Within White Walls
by rising-aspirations
Summary: Shortly after Patrick Jane's family is murdered by the infamous Red John, he spirals into a mental breakdown that almost costs him his life. He is retrieved and taken to the Heritage Oaks Hospital and admitted into their mental health wing where he's caged within white walls and seemingly stuck in his insanity. Will he endure the journey to recovery or wallow within white walls?
1. White

_Thank you so much for reading Within White Walls! This is my first published fic and I'd love to get feedback from anyone and everyone in regards to the story idea, writing, structure, etc. and maybe some tips? (This being my first time writing/publishing and all...) Thanks so much! Enjoy!_

* * *

White.

White lights, white lab coats, white sheets.

White towels stained crimson.

"Mr. Jane? Patrick, can you hear me?" a deep voice taunted him. He fluttered his eyes in a struggle to keep them open to their entirety. His ears were inundated with the sharp sounds of beeping machines and muttering voices. In an attempt to move a midst the blur he felt constrained.

"Patrick, I'm Doctor Hansen. You're in the hospital. You've lost a lot of blood from the stab wounds but we're going to fix you up, okay? Just hang in there."

The blonde middle aged man was thrust into a panic. This meant he was alive. This meant he didn't succeed. He shook his head, trying to keep the heavy weights of his eyes open in an attempt to plead for them to stop.

He didn't want any help. He didn't need any help.

He had wanted to die.

"N-No..." was all he managed to sputter before succumbing to the darkness.

* * *

Patrick Jane blinked his eyes open, taken slightly aback from the bright white light lit above him. His head throbbed and he felt a heavy burning sensation on his torso and forearms. He shut his eyes, hoping and praying this was all some sick version of heaven that he could simply wake up from.

He reopened his eyes to no avail.

Patrick Jane wasn't one to act on impulse, per say. As an educated analytic he naturally thought out every aspect and consequence to every situation and action.

This suicide attempt was the one exception to that analysis.

"Patrick?"

_Female. Approximately 42 years of age. Some sort of authority, but not police. Doctor more likely. Psychologist by the tone of her voice._ Jane's mind raced in analysis before seeing a glimpse of the blonde haired woman from the corner of his eye.

Directly following their eye contact, the woman rushed out of the room. Jane rested his eyes once more, hoping and praying to the God he didn't believe in that he could die at this very moment. Returning with her was a tall doctor who repeated the same word.

"Patrick?"

_Male. Approximately 56 years of age. Authoritative, yet sensitive and cautious. Emotionally invested in his patients. _

"Patrick? Can you hear me?"

Jane slowly nodded his head in response, opening his eyes to witness the sight of relief on the face of the tall man.

"How are you feeling?"

_Fantastic! Just tried to kill myself and didn't succeed. I'm feeling great! _The angry sarcasm poisoned his brain.

Jane stared at the man. He had no desire to speak. His words felt meaningless. Thankfully, Dr. Hansen read into Jane's eyes. Nothing was coming out of his mouth any time soon.

"Can you talk, Mr. Jane?"

He nodded.

"Do you want to talk, Mr. Jane?"

A gentle shake of his head answered the question.

Dr. Hansen proceeded to perform a gentle check up on Patrick as he spoke. "You lost quite a lot of blood. Luckily the police found you in time so we could patch you up good as new. You'll be sore for a while and have to be careful to change your bandages frequently and be careful to not open your stitches. Dr. Shayat will also assist you with that as well."

The doctor looked down at Patrick, optimism vomiting out with each word. "You're going to be just fine."

_Wonderful._

"Patrick, I am Dr. Elizabeth Shayat. I am the consultant psychologist here at Sacramento General. It's required that I ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

Her peppy and optimistic yet somewhat condescending tone was dis-interesting.

"It's perfectly acceptable that you aren't in the mood to talk. You've had quite the day. If you feel the need to chime in at any point, please feel free to speak up."

Jane tilted his head back, shutting his eyes as he felt the burning pain in the entirety of his being.

"Now, with the recent tragedy of the murder of your wife and daughter most people have failed to see your presence at your usual appointments. You've failed to meet with your clients for the past few weeks and have failed to contact them explaining your absence. You've isolated yourself inside your house with these tormenting thoughts and memories trapped with this sadness and potential guilt. We've had some neighbors and close friends express concern to the police which was what lead to your discovery last night. Upon entering your house, the police found the famous symbol of Red John-a smiley face drawn in blood-on the walls of the room you were found in. After some DNA tests, we've found the blood on the walls to be your own. It has been speculated that an intruder may have done this to you, however authorities believe the faces to be drawn by your own hand and your wounds to be self-inflicted."

The exclamatory silence that filled the room was ear piercing.

"Mr. Jane, is this true? Are your wounds self inflicted?"

Eyes shut and head remaining against the warm hospital pillow, he nodded.

"Patrick, we feel that it might be best to take you somewhere for a little while. Just somewhere that you can get help to get back up on your feet. There's a mental institution across town-Heritage Oaks. We feel it may be best for you to stay there for a while. Does that sound okay?"

_Yes, toss me into the loony bin. _His self pity and enduring shame was getting the best of his thoughts. He nodded just as before.

She smiled, resuming to her seat in the corner of the room and began filling out some paper work. As she finished, she gathered her things and rose toward Patrick's bed.

The woman placed her hand over his, a reassuring smile on her face. "They're going to take great care of you there, Patrick. You'll be back to yourself in no time."


	2. Brown

_These first few chapters are going to be a lot of setting and explanation which might get boring so for that I apologize in advance. I assure there will be more plot and story as it moves along. I might move towards writing one chapter a day and see how that goes, so this will be updating often. Thank you to all who are reading so far! Like I said in the previous chapter, please feel free to give me tips, pointers, anything really. This is my first time publishing a story and would love any and all advice from the more experienced and talented writers out there. Enjoy!_

* * *

Brown.

Brown dirt, brown jacket, brown shoes.

Brown naked trees violently contrasting the brilliant blue sky.

Lost in the disease of his depression, Jane robotically cooperated with the requests of Dr. Shayat. He had been given a pair of white pants, white shirt, and a brown jacket for his transportation through the somber Autumn air.

His feet familiarized with his normal shoes as he walked from his room, to the car, tapped them on the floor of the car, walked up the steps and through the doors of Heritage Oaks wincing every step of the way. Slicing stab wounds definitely didn't heal in two days time.

White.

White walls, white floors, white doors.

White tile stained with a dirty brown rug.

He waited patiently as Dr. Shayat passed her paperwork to a woman behind a glass cased desk. Patrick could feel the cold, tense air that surrounded him.

White door to the left. _Patient Rooms._

White door to the right. _Common Room._

Both doors were decorated with brawny men of hulking stature also wearing white, their hands folded in front of them. They eyed Patrick from their positions.

Dr. Shayat kindly disengaged the conversation with the receptionist and retreated to Patrick.

"Okay, Patrick. You're all checked in a ready to go. Let me show you around."

She placed a gentle hand on the small of his back and led him towards the door to the right. The hulking man smiled faintly at Jane as he unlocked and opened the door. They entered the Common Room area. Some patients turned to greet the new arrival, some continued in their never-ending madness in the quietness of their own worlds. The large room had blue walls, wooden flooring, and was decorated with a multitude of chairs, couches, tables, and splattered with books, magazines, and games. An odd abundance of nurses also decorated the room.

"This is the Common Room area. You can hang around here any time of the day from breakfast to lights out." She pointed to a door behind her, also guarded with another hulking figure. "This door leads to the courtyard. That area is only open from dawn to dusk."

The blonde psychologist pressed gently at the small of his back, leading him toward an extended hallway where soft light gleamed through the windows to the right against the doors to the left. They continued their journey as she spoke.

"These rooms hold activities throughout the day. C1 is art. C2 is music. C3 through C6 hold group therapy sessions and C7, 8, and 9 vary depending on the day."

Patrick slowly became lost at the discovery of a blue bird outside the window. He followed it with his eyes before it quickly vanished back into the sky. Dr. Shayat pressed on.

_Solitary_. The engraving on a door on their right that they bypassed. Either of no importance or so much that he'll be finding out later.

They came to an area with four doors. Each labeled T and with a different range of numbers. T01-T06, T07-T12, T13-T18, and T19-T24. "These are our private therapy rooms," Dr. Shayat explained. "Each patient is assigned their own psychiatrist upon arrival and are assigned to their room as well. That way you can have a safe place to talk and with one continuous person who can be solely focused on you and your needs and progress."

Patrick was lead to the left through another similarly guarded door. _Patient Rooms _the golden engraved sign read. They passed a number of rooms. P12, P11, P10, (where a man was leaning against his doorway glaring at the new arrival) P09, and so on and so forth until reaching P04. She gently knocked and peered through the sliver of a window that was present in the door before opening and assisting Patrick into the room. It was empty of other human life but populated with the belongings of another.

"This is your room. Your roommate is probably at session or hanging out somewhere throughout the unit. There's fresh sheets, a pillow, and plenty of changes of clothes for you in your closet. You're more than welcome to have someone bring you things from home besides clothing. Y'know, books, blankets, a pillow of your own, posters, things like that."

Jane stared blankly into space. _This is what is to become of me. Some lunatic stuck with another lunatic in a locked room for god knows how long. _

Elizabeth proceeded to tell Jane how things worked around here. How they woke you up at 8am sharp for medications and breakfast, then morning session with your personal psychiatrist, then free time, leading into group session which lead into lunch which lead to more free time, another visit to your psychiatrist, then a bit of free time, then lights out at 10pm.

Cameras wired the place. _A l__ittle bit too 1984 for me..._

Elizabeth lead him out of the room, shutting the door behind them. They began retracing their steps returning to the Therapy Rooms to arrive at the ominously taunting door.

_Solitary._

She typed in a pass code that unlocked the dominant metal door. Patrick was lead inside as the door closed behind him, then through another door marked S2. Inside was a twin bed.

And more white walls.

"Now here's the slight catch, Patrick. Because of the condition you were found in, it is protocol to place you in solitary for a day or two before fully immersing you into the daily routine. George, one of the nurses here, will be bringing you meals in the morning, afternoon, and night. You will also be visited by your psychiatrist in the morning and tomorrow night to get to know you a bit." Elizabeth hugged the doorway as Patrick ventured further inside. "This is where I leave you Patrick. I know you've been through a lot but I can assure you that they will take great care of you here."

The optimistic and belittling smile returned to her face, her eyes lit up with pity.

"Best of luck, Patrick."

Elizabeth exited the room, closing the door and firmly locking it.

A loud silence filled the air.

This was the first time Jane had been alone since...

The memories flooded back.

...since two days ago.

Jane exhaled, slowly sitting down on the thin mattressed twin bed. His stomach and forearms burned underneath the bandages, the stitches stretching his wounded skin. Patrick lifted his white shirt and graced his fingers gently across the careful bandaging around his torso. Slowly, he began unwrapping the bandages thinner and thinner before finally reaching his wounded white skin. His fingers slowly skimmed over each and every stitch. A total of 36 on his torso alone. 12 for two of the longer slices of flesh, 8 for the mid length wound closer to his chest, and 4 for the smaller beginning slice taken horizontal and parallel to his navel. His hands went on a gentle adventure across each and every stitch.

_Are they seriously that naive and oblivious to leave a man of my mental instability in a room alone?_

Jane closed his eyes, inhaled then exhaled, as he began ripping the stitches from his flesh. Wincing in agony, he clenched his jaw as tight as he could to distract from the pain.

_I'm coming, Charlotte. Angela, darling, wait for me. I'll be there soon. _

Tears stained his cheeks through the burning. He immediately felt the warm liquid gushing from the wounds.

They weren't going to stop him this time. He had nothing left to live for. With his family dead and Red John harassing him, no home to go to, no job to uphold, nothing. Patrick Jane had slowly slipped into worthlessness.

After successfully ripping at least 20 of the stitches from his flesh, he laid down on the bed.

_It's all my fault. I'm so sorry, darling. I'm so sorry. _

He closed his eyes.

White.

White shirt stained crimson.


	3. Tan

_Thank you again to those who are reading! I'm always accepting criticism (positive or negative). Please feel free to give me tips as well. Enjoy Chapter 3!_

* * *

Tan.

Tan skin, tan socks, tan hair.

Tan straight jacket restraining hulking yet weak arms.

Patrick Jane blinked back to life, his torso aching in pain. He came to the conclusion that they'd sedated him to prevent him from attempting to hurt himself any more. The lights in the room were bright and unforgiving. He attempted to shift on the bed to no avail. Examining the restraints, he realized he was tied down firmly to the bed by his arms, waist, and ankles. There had to be some way to get out of this contraption...

A tap came at the door.

Patrick ceased his struggle. A middle aged man entered the room. Dark hair, medium height, medium build, fashioning a black suit with a crimson tie. Patrick was too exhausted to analyze him. His quick assumption was that it was George or his psychiatrist.

He smiled down at the helpless restrained man.

"Hello, Patrick."

The man paced around the room.

"I would ask how you are feeling but I'm assuming pretty shitty. Am I right?"

Patrick refused to respond, keeping his eyes closed and body still.

"No matter. I knew you wouldn't last a single day in here. You barely lasted an hour! For heaven's sake, are you really _that_ desperate to die, Patrick?"

The question caught Jane by surprise. Surprise enough to open his eyes and examine the man as he paced.

"But, alas! The day has come! You've finally gone off the deep end. Or hit rock bottom, or come to the end of your rope. You choose the phrase, my friend. Either way this is it, isn't it? Or so it seems, hmm? One Patrick Jane is set to live the rest of his life engulfed by insanity and forever incapable of pulling himself back out. It's a shame, really."

"Who are you?" Patrick questioned.

"Who am I?" The man busted into laughter. "Who am _I_? You know me, Patrick." He explained matter of factually. The man moved closer to Jane.

"I go by many names. Perhaps you know me more as..."

He leaned in close, whispering into Patrick's ear.

"Red John."

Patrick felt his heart rate immediately escalate, his breathing becoming rapid and intense. He attempted to shift away from the man in fear.

"No. N-No, it can't be... You aren't-"

"Oh, but I am, Patrick! This was all part of my plan, don't you realize that? Once you decided to, oh what do you call it, 'read' me? Share with the media that I am, and I quote, an ugly, tormented little man and a lonely soul...Well, Patrick I knew I had to do something. So, I punished you by killing your family and I had the slightest idea that you'd fall off the deep end and end up in a secluded place where I could access you at any time that I need for my pleasure and entertainment! Now, how about that?"

Thoughts raced through Patrick's head. How could he have been so naive to let this happen?

"You do realize this is all your fault, right? Poor Angela. She had such a future ahead of her, you know. The best mother and wife. Beautiful. I don't know how a chump like you ended up with a woman like her. And then Charlotte. Dear Charlotte didn't even get to start her life. And who's to blame for that, Patrick? Who?"

Patrick cleared his throat, whispering. "Me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you...Who's fault is it?"

"Mine."

"You really shouldn't mumble, Patri-"

"It's my fault! It's all my fault, you sick bastard." Patrick shut his eyes tight, tears staining his ghostly white cheeks. "It's my fault they're dead! It's all my fault! Just shut up and leave! Kill me or leave me alone!"

Patrick stared straight into the man's eyes. "Kill me. KILL ME. You have to kill me, just do it. Please. I beg of you."

"Now, Patrick we both know that's what you want. And I can't simply satisfy you, can I? It's so much fun watching you suffer."

Patrick closed his eyes, banging his head back against the pillow beneath him. "Please. PLEASE. KILL ME. I JUST WANT TO DIE. PLEASE!"

Loud and forcefully, the door opened. A young blonde male filled the doorway.

"Hey, calm down. Do I need to go get the nurses?" he threatened.

Patrick frantically looked around the room, Red John nowhere to be found. His breathing was heavy and streams of tears stained his perplexed countenance. He dare not say a word.

"That's what I thought," the man stated. "Look, your psychiatrist will be in shortly. Just hang in there, alright?"

The door shut with a loud _thud_, then clicking as he locked it. Patrick re-examined the room in his panic.

He had hallucinated the whole thing.

_Come on, Patrick. Pull yourself together. _He rested his eyes, returning his breaths to normal when another tap came at the door.

"Patrick?" A petite female voice came from the doorway. The owner of the voice entered, brown hair, medium height, white coat and nice clothes underneath. She entered the room with a chair, proceeding to place it beside Patrick's bed and taking a seat. Patrick gazed at the ceiling, his eyes glossy with disinterest.

"Patrick, my name is Sophie Miller. I'm here to help you get better."

He turned to look her square in the eye. Perhaps she could read through to his brokenness and longing to escape all of this. After a few moments he returned his gaze to the white lights above him.

"I've been told you haven't spoken to anyone for the past three days, is that correct?"

He nodded somberly.

"However, George out there just explained to me that he heard you screaming just a moment ago."

She waited for a response that never came.

"Well, like I said before. I'm here to help you get better. I realize the tragedy you've been through was fairly traumatizing, however you've got a lot of life ahead of you. It may take some time, but you'll be getting back up on your feet in no time."

She let the silence linger for a while in hopes of another response that, again, ceased to exist. She proceeded.

"Since you aren't feeling like talking, I tell you what I know. You can chime in if you want to correct me." She opened a manila folder marked 'Jane, Patrick'.

"Patrick Jane. Age Thirty Two. Used to work with traveling circus's and carnivals when you branched off with your wife, Angela Jane, to start a family. You began your business as a psychic and spoke to the deceased of those who would come to you for your services. You then began studying the infamous serial killer Red John. Three weeks ago you discovered your wife and daughter brutally murdered inside your home. The act clearly performed by Red John. Ever since then you've shut yourself out and attempted suicide twice. Once in your home in an attempt to stage it as Red John had done it and once more in this very room two days ago. And now here we are."

For the entirety of his evaluation, Patrick's gaze remained locked on the lights above him.

"Well, the good news is they're going to let you out of the straight jacket tomorrow if you cooperate. The bad news is you'll be on watch for 24 hours to assure you won't be trying to tear out your stitches again."

She placed a gentle hand on the terrified man's shoulder, the touch drawing his eyes to hers.

"I'm going to help you, Patrick. You're going to be okay. I promise."

How odd. She provided a sense of comfort and hope he had been longing for since that ominous night.

Maybe he could do this after all.


	4. Blue

Blue.

Blue sky, blue eyes, blue skirt.

Blue blankets covering an inanimate lump of human.

The inanimate lump of a human that was Patrick Jane, to be exact.

They had released him from Solitary and into the rest of the institution earlier this morning. They made it very clear someone would be watching him at all times. George, in fact, was observing Patrick in the room at this very moment. After spending his first day and the following four days in Solitary, Patrick found the company of other humans odd. Not that he had a longing to interact and get to know anyone anyways. He lay underneath the blue blankets provided for him on his bed in the right corner of the bedroom he shared. He began to wonder who his roommate was, and if he'd ever get to meet him.

Patrick did take a liking to Sophie. Granted he hadn't opened his mouth to her yet and simply heard her analysis of him (which was only half way accurate, if you asked him) and didn't feel the need to talk to anyone at this point in time. Patrick was trying to pull himself together on his own, but the harder he tried the further he sank. Why try if you're going to end up right back where you came from?

As of right now, the view out of his window towards the courtyard was enough. The soft blue autumn sky was welcoming to the middle aged man. No one was outside today as the weather was a tad bit chilly. However, the sun shone well enough through the window enough to light up the room.

One day, finally, where Jane felt completely and utterly relaxed. No distractions, no obligations, no restraints.

Without warning, the door to the room swung open excitedly. In scrambled a stubby chubby man with loose black curly hair. He fashioned the same white shirt, pants, and slippers that everyone else in the hospital had.

_Younger man, mid twenties per say. Either highly hyperactive or schizophrenic. _

The man proceeded to whisper subtly to himself.

_I'm betting on the latter, _Patrick thought. _Has an emotional relationship with food-eats to make the voices quit for the time being. He can't grasp onto anything else that's real except food, thus explaining the slight obesity. Childish at heart. _

The intruder jumped at the sight of Patrick curled up in the so usually vacant bed. Taken aback and unaware as to what to do, he simply stared at the lump of a human. Patrick extended the eye contact towards him letting the silence simmer. A grin grew on the intruder's face, joy filling his entire being.

"Hey! You must be the new guy!" he excitedly approached Patrick with an extended hand. "The name's Peter!"

Peter waited for a response that would never occur. After a few awkward moments, he made eye contact with George, then shifted his wide-eyed gaze back to Patrick.

"Oh... you're on watch for the big 'S', huh? They won't leave you alone for a good few days or so. It's like you get an automatic best friend for a few days! George is pretty chill so you have no need to freak out about him. He's a great guy. Just be extra super good so you don't end up with Butch. He's mean and scary and I'm pretty sure he has no friends."

Peter retreated to his own bedside, pulling out a trunk from beneath his bed. It held hundreds and hundreds of comic books, action figures, cards, a few snacks (that he strategically kept out of George's sight), the works. The stubby chubby character grabbed four comics, slammed the trunk shut and slid it back underneath the bed. He worked himself onto his bed, scooting all the way against the wall to remain facing Patrick.

"So, whatcha in for? I'm guessing the big 'S', huh? Since, you know, George is here and all."

Patrick locked his gaze with the sky and few clouds that were outside the secured window, refusing to respond in any way shape or form.

Peter hardly took silence for an answer.

"HEY. YOU. HELLOOOO. Are you deaf, too? Because I mean that's totally cool nothing against deaf people because I bet then you have really good sniffers or eyes or something else since the big guy screwed you in the hearing department but tha-"

Patrick shifted his gaze to Peter who took the contact like a blow to the face. Immediately shutting up in response to the daggers that were Jane's blue eyes, Peter opened one of his comic books.

Patrick proceeded to shut his eyes, inhaled deeply, and followed up with an equally exhausting exhale.

"Tired?" Peter prodded. Patrick remained with eyes shut, but nodded.

"So you CAN hear me! Man, I mean I've dealt with the crazies, you know, like murderers and bipolars and schizo's but never a deaf crazy! That'd definitely be something new and I mean I've been here for quite some time so I guess new is good but I've definitely never had someone who doesn't talk either. OOH! That's it! You can't talk! That's why you're so quiet! I mean, why on earth wouldn't someone want to talk! That's the main way of communica-"

George let out a slight laugh from his position in the corner of the room. This obviously is something that happens quite often.

"George told me whenever he started to laugh, that was when I needed to call it quits on the chatter," Peter explained to Jane.

"He's just had a rough week," George explained to Peter. "Not sure what to think or say, is my guess. I bet he enjoys the company to some degree, though Peter. Tell him why you're here."

"Why I am here?!" Peter exclaimed. He looked intently at Jane, eyes as wide as all get out. Patrick met his stare.

"You wanna know why I've been cooped up here for forever?" Peter excitedly asked. He went on without cue.

"I killed a bunch of six year old's."

This caught Patrick's attention.

Peter reenacted the event with body motions. "I saw a bunch of the little suckers in class and went in with a gun and BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! All of 'em! Goners!"

Patrick's stomach sank. This man may as well be the equivalent to Red John. He lifted his head, keeping eye contact with Peter. His right forearm helped shift him up in his bed. All color had vanished from his face. This guy was asking for it. You didn't throw Patrick Jane in a living space with a child murderer.

Peter stared sadistically at Patrick, the corner of one side of his mouth lifting slightly.

"HA! JUST KIDDING!" Peter broke out into the most hysterical laughter that could be heard from miles away. "Dude, you should've seen your face, man! HA HA! PRICELESS! Oh man. Every time! EVERY TIME!" Peter reveled in his successful prank.

Jane was out from under the covers and on top of Peter in less than a millisecond.

_How dare you joke about killing children? HOW DARE YOU. _

Patrick lunged himself at the man, gripping his hands firmly around his throat. This kind of sick human should not be living! Joke or not, it's not something to kid about. His face flushed red as his grip became tighter and tighter around his thick neck.

George was quick to get to Patrick, hitting him on the back side of the head and yanking him off of Peter with all his strength.

"Patrick! Calm down!" George yelled at the savage man, gripping him around his waist as firm as he could before he gave in. Patrick's eyes remained locked on the fear filled eyes of Peter. Jane gave in, agreeing to rest back on the bed. His chest rose and fell with each intense and restless breath, refusing to take his eyes off the chubby roommate.

"D-Dude...I was totally just kidding...I...I'm sorry, man. I really was just trying to be funny...I..." Peter rambled aimlessly. He brought a hand straight to his neck, softly rubbing the spots Patrick had gripped. His frightened eyes remained locked with Patrick's. Full of anger, full of rage, full of revenge.

Silence lingered between them for several seconds before Peter hopped up and bolted out of the room. Jane brought a hand to his forehead, allowing the tears to stain his face. The loose, soon vocal, sobbing progressed. George kept a hand on Patrick's shoulder, attempting to comfort him in any way he could.

"Listen, I'm not going to turn this one in because you've already had a rough week. But next time this happens, I'll be turning you in. Understand?"

Jane nodded, retiring to his mold in the bed. He adjusted the blankets over top of him and held onto them tightly.

Unavoidably, he revisited that ominous night. He curled up and shut his eyes as the events of the night of his wife and daughter's murder haunted his mind and poisoned his brain.


	5. Violet

Violet.

Violet flowers, violet blouse, violet carpet patterns.

Violet nail polish upon a comforting hand.

"So," Sophie began. "Day 6 of therapy and...what? Nothing yet?"

Patrick remained in the common silence. He had no longing to speak to anyone still.

"Patrick, this is becoming a little bit ridiculous, don't you think?" She added, letting a breathy laugh escape her mouth.

Jane met her gaze, poisoning her with his contagious countenance of sadness. The joking smile immediately drained from her face.

"Alright, so no talking today. That's perfectly fine."

The one thing that appealed to Jane was that she couldn't force him to do or say anything. It was all semi-voluntary.

"Fine then. Let's play a game, shall we? You like games, don't you Patrick?"

_Stop talking to me like I'm twelve._ He nodded.

"Alright. I'll ask a question or say a comment, you nod 'yes' or 'no'. Sound good?"

_Won't hurt anything. Won't be revealing anything. _He nodded in agreement.

"Your name is Patrick Jane."

He nodded.

"You used to be a con artist."

Another nod, slightly more hesitant than the first.

"Specifically dealing with psychic abilities and contacting the afterlife...?"

_Yes._

"Do you enjoy long walks on the beach?"

He laughed, nodding.

"Drink coffee?"

A shake of the head.

"Tea?"

He smiled slightly, nodding confidently.

"Your wife and daughter were murdered almost one month ago."

He felt all color vanish from his face. Didn't expect that one. He looked to the purple patterned carpet.

He nodded.

"This was a result of you sharing information over the media about Red John, yes?"

_Yes._

"Do you feel responsible?"

Hesitant at first, but then a nod.

"You feel it's your fault that your family is dead."

Another nod.

"You wish Red John would have killed you instead of them."

He nodded. _General psychiatric information. Anyone could have inferred these questions and known what the answers would be based on my circumstances._

"You've never trusted anyone, I mean _really_ trusted anyone."

He nodded.

"Does anyone know who you are? Anyone at all?"

He thought for a minute, then sheepishly proceeded to shake his head.

"Do you want to get better?"

This one he needed to think about. Since his family was murdered he had been a wreck and had no desire to go on with anything. He had attempted suicide twice within the same week.

However, something about Sophie gave him a slight sense of hope. He couldn't put his finger on it and it wasn't like he was automatically healed by looking into her eyes or gracing her hand lightly, but he did feel like he could do more when she was around.

Hesitantly and shyly, he nodded slightly.

"Good," she said. "Because I want you to get better too. But you are only going to get better if you want to. So that's a start, okay?"

She smiled at him warmly. "I think we've had enough for today. Shall we call it a day?"

Patrick remained looking at the carpet as he nodded his head and stood.

"Hey," she placed a hand on his shoulder. "We at least made some progress today. That's good, okay? One step at a time. We'll get there." she reassured. "I'll see you later. George is waiting for you outside. I heard it was your last day on watch, is that right?"

Patrick nodded, one corner of his mouth slightly raising. He was quite excited to get rid of George stalking him. He made good company, however Patrick was much more used to being by himself. He knew he wasn't healed, but he knew he wasn't as intensively suicidal as he was a week ago.

The blonde haired man proceeded out of the therapy room to meet George, whom had caught on to how to communicate with Patrick. He asked the same question after every session.

"Did it go well?"

Patrick nodded, as he did every time George had asked that question.

"Good." He would always reply with an optimistic smile plastered to his face.

George led Patrick to the Common Room. He made eye contact with Peter who froze in his position on the couch where he was playing Candy Land with a few other patients. Needless to say Peter was slightly terrified of Patrick after he attacked him two days prior.

"Y'know, I know you aren't all for the whole talking thing yet but maybe you should talk to Peter to sort things out. I bet he'd be more comfortable knowing you aren't usually a savage." George chimed.

Patrick ignored the comment and retreated to the chair he'd made his home in the Common Room for the past few days. A round violet chair sat beside a window that welcomed in the sunlight and had a perfect view of a park at an elementary school across the street. Watching children enjoy themselves and play was something that Patrick found joy in. He was always envious of the innocence of the tiny humans. The weather had progressively gotten better as the week went on, making today a perfect fall day for the kids to be playing outside.

He eyed a certain girl on the monkey bars. Long, blonde, curly hair swung against her back as she adventured from one side of the monkey bars to the other. She wore bright violet boots. He could swear she looks just like...

"What is it about these kids?" George asked. He didn't know the entirety of Patrick's story, so he didn't understand the significance. "I mean, I know you won't answer me but I will never understand why you watch them like you do with such delight."

George allowed silence to pass through momentarily.

"Do you have kids?"

Jane didn't exactly know how to answer that question. He kept his eyes locked on the blonde girl, swinging blissfully on the swings now as her hair flowed gracefully in the breeze with a smile cemented onto her face.

"Patrick?"

Jane broke his glance to look up at George.

"Do you have any kids?"

Patrick slowly shook his head.

_Not anymore._

"Do you want kids?"

Another shake of the head.

_Not anymore._

They sat in silence, observing the innocent children play without a care in the world. How Patrick wished so desperately to be there with them.

"I don't have any kids, nor do I want any either." George admitted. "I grew up raising my little brother and he was a pest enough so I didn't want to have to deal with them anymore. Too much responsibility, you know?"

Patrick nodded, still watching the children.

"My little brother," George proceeded, "He, uhm...He had autism. A severe kind of autism too where he looked normal but his brain was all messed up. And my parents didn't care for him at all so I had to. I didn't mind it much. I think that's why I wanted to work and help with people in mental institutions." George was also looking out the window at this point. "Y'know with my brother I was someone who didn't give up on him and he needed that someone. Everyone needs that someone so if I can be that someone for you or for Peter, that's what I want. I don't know if I'm even making much sense and I know I just kind of said that but yeah. A lot of people wonder why people like me take these jobs. I guess that's why."

George looked up towards Patrick whose eyes still remained glued on the playground.

"Not that, you know, you care much anyways." he added.

Silence fell between the two for several minutes. In that instant, Patrick wasn't sure he wanted to be taken off of suicide watch. Peter was right. It was sort of like an automatic best friend.

"For what it's worth," George began, "The people here... we won't give up on you, okay?"

George awaited a response that seemed to not arrive. So when Patrick lifted his gaze from the school yard to look into George's eyes and smiled at him with gratitude, George was slightly taken a back. Following the gesture, Patrick resumed his watching. He rested his chin in his hand and leaned against the side of the window. Another moment filled with peace, quietness, and serenity that Patrick appreciated.

* * *

"Patrick?"

A female voice called after him.

"Patrick?"

Jane quickly unlocked the front door to his house to hear voices shouting at him.

"Patrick, help me!"

He stopped. Was that...

"Daddy? Daddy, help me!"

_Angela? Charlotte?_

In an attempt to scream, he fell silent. Patrick ran through his house and up his stairs as faster as he could. Following the voices towards his daughters room. He stood outside looking in.

There lay his wife and daughter.

Tied up, alive, suffering.

Tears rolled freely down the cheeks of his precious six year old.

"Daddy! Daddy, save me!" she pleaded.

"Daddy, help! Please don't let me die!" she cried.

Patrick ran towards the door of her room, just as a large man dressed in all black slammed the door shut and locked it in front of him.

"No! NO! Open this door!" Patrick pounded with every strength in his entire being. "CHARLOTTE? ANGELA?"

"Patrick, sweetie," Angela spoke, fear behind each word. "Patrick, please. Please, honey! Please!"

Patrick spoke frantically trying to find some way to bust the door down. "I'm trying!" he yelled. "I'm coming, Angie, don't you worry. You're going to be just fine, I promise. I'm here. I'm-"

Screaming.

Slicing.

Sobbing.

Patrick listened through the door to the sounds of his wife and daughter suffering and bleeding out. Breathing heavy with tears staining his face he pounded furiously on the door, unable to speak coherently.

A deep, malicious laughter came from the opposing side of the door.

_Click._

The previously locked bedroom door now creaked open, revealing the fresh corpses.

Violet.

Violet walls, violet curtains, violet lamp shade.

Violet pajamas drowned in crimson.

* * *

Patrick awoke suddenly, breathing heavy with perspiration dripping freely down his forehead.

The bell had rung for the children to go inside.

George eyed the man carefully. "You okay?"

Patrick shut his eyes tight in attempt to calm himself down and steady his own breathing. With a careful nod (that was completely unbelievable to George) he took in a deep breath and exhaled, opening his eyes to an empty playground.

"C'mon. Group is starting soon." George mentioned as he rose from his chair.

Patrick nodded, taking one last glance out at the autumn day.

_I'm so sorry, Charlotte._


	6. Orange

_Thank you to everyone who continues to read through Within White Walls! And a special thanks to those who continue to send in reviews! I appreciate it more than you guys know. I am also getting asked if we will get to see more of Peter which I can answer "Yes!". We will be seeing much more of him, but maybe not until the next chapter or the chapter after next. But he will remain as a prominent character in Patrick's journey. Thanks again for reading and reviewing! I had no clue this was going to be such a hit. :) Enjoy!_

* * *

Orange.

Orange leaves, orange couches, orange flowers.

Orange cushioned seats set up in a circular fashion.

This was Patrick's second time going to group session. At Heritage Oaks they tried to place people in groups of those who had something in common with the other group members. That way they could relate to each other more to help and support each other thus making the recovery process slightly more efficient.

Seven others joined Jane in the orange seating arrangement. George remained in the hallway, leaving Patrick to partake in session independently.

"Afternoon, everyone." Dr. Travis greeted. He was their group mediator and therapist. A select few greeted him verbally. Others, including Patrick, simply acknowledged his presence without a word. He proceeded to take a seat between two patients on the opposing side of the circle.

"How is everyone today?"

Various responses from what Patrick noted. A few nods, some shaking their heads, then some failing to respond at all.

"Let's spend a little time today getting to know one another. We have two new members in our group. Some of you remember Patrick from last time." Dr. Travis gestured to him. Patrick responded with a slight nod, making eye contact with each member of the circle.

"Then we have another new arrival. This is Summer. She joined us yesterday afternoon and this is her first group session." He gestured to a young, ghost-like girl two seats to the right of Patrick. She smiled with slight weakness, keeping eye contact on the floor.

"Let's start by going around and saying our name and why we are here at Heritage Oaks. If you don't feel like sharing, you can feel free to pass."

_Again with the twelve-year-old talk. They belittle us like we're some kind of challenged humans that aren't capable of thinking in similar capacities. If only they knew what went on behind these closed doors._

They all took turns around the circle, majority of them struggling in the same areas. Jane read each one correctly before they even opened their mouth.

_Marvin. 45. Attempted suicide when he found out his wife was cheating on him. Suffers greatly with panic attacks and anxiety._

_Lisa. 36. Extreme depression after her only child passed away and was never able to pick herself back up._

_Summer. 19. Rough home life resulting in low self-esteem and no self-worth. Struggling with self harm. Depressed._

_Trevor. 30. Still living with his mother. Failure to find someone to marry or love him. Attempted suicide and continuous depression._

_David. 32. In fear of turning out like his father (being an abusive alcoholic), tried to off himself after he hit one of his kids._

_Lana. 42. Severe manic-depressive disorder. All nature, no nurture. _

_Thomas. 48. Emotional eater. Couldn't hold a stable job. Attempted suicide. Extreme anger issues._

As they each proceeded to say why they were there, Patrick became more thrilled at the thought that he was right about every one of them so far. His turn was after David.

"Patrick?" Dr. Travis requested. "Would you like to share?"

_Hi, I'm Patrick and I had a mental break down after my wife and daughter were brutally murdered by the serial killer Red John. I've tried to kill myself twice and don't see the point in living anymore. _

Patrick shook his head. Not today.

"Alright, moving on then."

Everyone else was an open book. Patrick supposes that they saw sharing information with these complete strangers as not being that bad because, honestly, what were the odds you'd see any of these people ever again?

After everyone had spoken, with the exception of Jane, Dr. Travis continued to move things forward.

"Thank you, everyone, for sharing. If you guys spend time getting to know one another, you'll be able to help each other with your individual recovery process. You shouldn't need to go through recovery alone. You'll need to be here to love and support everyone every day."

The group nodded in unison to show their comprehension.

"Alright then. Anyone have anything they'd like to share off the bat to get us started?"

Silence at first. Then a hand raised, belonging to a lean, brunette man.

"Yes, Trevor?"

"The weather outside is nice."

A few people around the circle nodded.

"Yeah, I went and sat in the courtyard a bit today. I saw an orange bird on the feeder." Lana added.

"Are you sure it was orange?" Lisa retorted. "The only orange birds are Orioles and those aren't in California. At least the orange ones aren't. It was probably yellow."

Lana closed her body off slightly, lowering her glance and voice volume. "I coulda sworn it was orange..."

"Either way," Trevor spoke up again, "It is nice out today."

_The kids were playing outside today._ Patrick wished to add.

"Alright then, anything else?" Dr. Travis questioned.

"That Red John guy killed someone else." David quietly added from his seat, next to Jane.

This caught his attention. Patrick could feel his face empty of all color, his heart rate increasing.

"Now, David. These kinds of things don't need to be discussed." Dr. Travis intervened.

"Why the hell not? You asked us if we had something to talk about and hell that's something to talk about, isn't it?"

Dr. Travis turned his attention to Patrick. Apparently he knew his back story from his file already.

"Well, yes, but..."

"It's really horrible. The things that guy is doing...I mean what if...what if he comes here and kills us?" Marvin explained, panicked.

"Marvin, there's no need to panic. He will not coming here."

"He could...He very well could come here! And then what are we supposed to do?"

"Marvin, we have good security here and he won't get in. Now let's talk about something else, shall we?"

"But him!" Marvin pointed directly at Jane. "He was the one who talked about him on the news! He was the one who talked about him and then got his family killed! That was _him!_ He could come here to kill him and kill us too!"

A panicked chatter began about the room among the patients.

"Yeah, I thought I recognized him..." Lisa chimed in.

Lana spoke up. "I knew it! He's leading Red John to us!"

"We're all gonna get murdered!" added Marvin. "

Patrick swallowed, taking every piece of self-control in his entire being to not jump up and punch someone. He raised himself from his orange chair and helped himself out of the room in them middle of the chaos. He knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if he had stayed in that room any longer.

George was waiting outside as Patrick furious shoved himself through the door from C4 to the hallway. The assistant immediately followed Patrick's furious foot falls all the way to his room. He opened the door, slamming it behind him right into George without thought.

He paced unsteadily in the small space provided.

"Patrick," George attempted to soothe the angered man. "Patrick, hey. Calm down. It's okay..."

The middle-aged blonde patient froze in his footsteps, shooting a furious glare at George. Sophie entered the room deftly behind him, her eyes filled with concern. She whispered something to George. He nodded obediently and exited the room.

She spoke softly. "Patrick..."

He shook his head, breaths getting heavier and heavier by the second. Upon the closing of his eyes, tears released down his angered face.

"Patrick, talk to me." Sophie attempted again. She kept her distance, but knew that she had to get something out of him.

He repeated the shaking of his head, turning around to put his hands on his bed and rocking back and forth onto his heels. He attempted to control his breathing and calm himself down but he couldn't do it. Impulsively, he grabbed his pillow and hurled it across the room at the white wall that taunted him. He grabbed anything within a few feet that he could throw-pillows, clothes, a few books, blankets, everything. Within a matter of seconds the entirety of the room was wrecked and thrown to the other side.

Tears angrily streamed down his face, his continuous sobs now audible. He fell to his knees and leaned himself against his bed as the cries left his body.

Sophie quickly approached him, lowering herself to his level. She placed both of her hands on his shoulders and eventually wrapped her arms around him.

"Shhh..." she cooed. "Patrick, shhh...it's okay. You're okay." She knew all this man needed was someone to love him. He needed a loving and soothing touch to aid in conquering this pain. She moved one hand to rub his back as he proceeded to let the vocal sobs escape his mouth.

The duo remained on the floor for moments unaccounted for. After a while, his breathing eventually steadied and he wiped the tears from his pinked face.

She called George back in to help her return the room to its original state. They both knew they should turn him in for an outburst like this, but if no one got hurt and there was no evidence of such a happening, no one needed to know. After a simple week, both George and Sophie had soft spots for Patrick and knew more time in solitary would do anything but help him.

She first adjusted the mattress back to normal, retrieved the pillows from across the room and helped Patrick into his bed. Sophie sighed, softly laying a blanket over the exhausted human.

"Boy, he's going to need a lot more work than you thought, huh." George whispered to her.

She nodded. "I didn't think it'd be this bad."

They both quietly pulled the pieces of the room back together making it seem as if nothing had happened. Only thing ruined being an orange covered journal Patrick kept at his bedside. The pages had exploded throughout the room. She collected them and returned them to the bed stand.

She sighed once more, carefully examining the body of this tortured and broken soul.

"Don't worry, Patrick. We're going to fix you. I'm not giving up on you. I promise."


	7. Green

Green.

Green jello, green lettuce, green tray.

Green grass swaying in a light breeze outside the window.

That had become the common sight for Patrick Jane.

Since his breakdown on Wednesday, he realized that wherever he went, whatever he did, whomever he talked to, he would always be reminded of Red John and the horrendous murder of his family. So he had spent the past six days in his room lying in his bed. He only got up if he felt the need to use the rest room, shower once or twice, and turned over from time to time to gaze at the green grass dancing in the breeze.

Peter came and went as he pleased attempting to make subtle conversation but mostly minded his own business for fear he might snap at him again.

As he panicked through yet another dream where he failed to get to his wife and daughter in time for their dreadful fate, a few knocks came at the door.

"Patrick?" George whispered through the crack in the door. "Patrick, it's George. I'm coming in."

Patrick had no objection. He appreciated his politeness. He turned on his back and stared at the white ceiling. He brought his arm to his forehead to wipe the sweat and closed his eyes to help slow down his breathing.

"Another one, huh?" George had no idea what these nightmares were about. He had no knowledge of Patrick's past. Most patients choose to tell their watch nurse what they've dealt with so they can get to know them a bit more. But Patrick has remained silent and somber, no knowledge of his past or of what had happened. "Is there anything you can do to stop those night mares from happening?"

Patrick shook his head slowly. Each time he went to sleep he relived that fateful night over and over. If only he had gotten there sooner. If only he hadn't said all that information. If only, if only, if only.

George brought a tray of food in with him and set it down on the night stand beside another untouched tray. Patrick usually nibbled at certain bits throughout the day, but otherwise hadn't had a full meal in six days.

"Dude, seriously? I've brought you three trays each day for the past six days and you haven't touched a single one. I could turn you in for this and they could force you to eat."

George received no response from Patrick, who was still staring at the ceiling.

"Hello? Earth to Patrick?"

He rapidly waved his hand in front of his eyes. By this time, Patrick had brought himself back down again from the hype of the previous nightmare. With a straight face, he met George's glance.

"Are you hungry?"

Patrick turned over on his side facing the wall and clung the blankets to him as he shook his head. _No._

"C'mon, man. That's a total lie. I can tell."

_Yes, because someone like you can tell the difference when someone is telling a lie and when they aren't. _He smiled slightly to himself.

George allowed there to be some silence between them. He collected the trays and took them back to the kitchen. When he returned he opened the window its complete two inches. A comforting autumn breeze blew in.

"You know what that's called? That's called fresh air, Pat. C'mon. Get up and let's go outside or something. It'll do you some good."

Patrick remained with his eyes closed, trying to sleep. Not that he found sleeping particularly enjoyable when memories played over and over again. He wished he could take that small wing of the memory palace and destroy it.

"Can you at least get up to go see Sophie for your evening session tonight?"

The curly blonde haired human shook his head once more. For the past six days, Sophie had been coming inside Patrick's room and sitting with him for the entirety of the hour they were required to have together. She would say simple phrases or ask how he was, if he was hungry, if he wanted to get up, go outside, play a game, things like that. Patrick had stuck to being vocally unresponsive.

"Fine. Whatever, I don't care anyways. Look, I'm going to go now and if you decide you want to do something you know where to find me."

George reached across the bed stand to shut the window, accidentally knocking over the orange journal that had been thrown during his tantrum a week ago on his way back. A week ago only a few pages were filled out. At this point every page was filled out with some sort of writing.

George's curiosity got the best of him.

"What are these?"

Patrick remained in his mold, eyes either shut, and failed to respond.

George flipped through a few of the pages. They had seemed to be letters of some sort.

"Who's Angie?"

The lump's eyes flew open. He turned his head toward George and sat up in his bed.

_Those aren't yours. You can't read them. Give them back! _Patrick wanted to yell. But something kept him from his outburst. His eyes stayed on George as he read one of the papers aloud.

"Dear Angie, I'm missing you today. I miss you every day. The flowers outside are a constant reminder of your bright and colorful personality that I fell in love with..." he trailed off with realization. "Is Angie your wife?"

Patrick took a moment, then nodded. George proceeded to flip through more of the letters.

"...and Charlotte. Your daughter?"

Another nod. Tears would have filled his eyes, but Patrick was too exhausted to cry any more. His heart hurt heavily more than anything.

A few more minutes passed, then he furthered the interrogation.

"Why don't they come visit you? Did you get a divorce?"

_If only it were that simple._ Patrick laughed slightly inside his head. He shook his head.

"Do you know Angie's phone number? We can go out and give her a call at the patient phones if you-"

George had turned to the pages covered in the infamous red smile. A good twenty or so pages were covered with various sizes of _that_ marking.

All color vanished from George's complexion. He found himself speechless. Silence fell between the two for several minutes as George sat down next to Patrick, his eyes glued to the pictures.

"Patrick," he began in a hushed voice. "I... I am so sorry." George would never be able to comprehend what Patrick was going through. Even though he didn't know the whole story, he knew enough to feel more sorry for Patrick than he'd ever felt for any patient at Heritage Oaks.

Jane looked down at the floor, his heart heavy with the common pain he'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks.

Neither of them spoke for a while. A faint chirping of birds was the only sound heard every so often. George closed the journal and placed it in Patrick's lap. After a few minutes, George placed a hand on Patrick's shoulder and raised himself from the bed.

"Look, you...uh..." George was flustered and at a semi-loss for words. "You can...just take as much time as you need. I'm sure Sophie will come meet you for your evening session."

* * *

"Patrick," Sophie started. "This is our twenty fifth meeting and you still have yet to say a word to me."

The middle aged man stared down at his forearms, specifically at the self inflicted wounds that had been progressively healing.

He had come to feel more comfortable around Sophie. She had a comfortable presence to her and wouldn't mind sharing, but he didn't think he was ready to talk. Not yet.

"We can't get anywhere if you don't talk to me, Patrick. You realize that, don't you?"

The corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile, little laughs escaping his mouth. _Who says I even wanted to 'get anywhere'? Maybe I'm happy like this._ he wanted to say (even though he knew it was a lie).

"What's so funny, Patrick?"

He shook his head, the smile escaping from his face.

Sophie leaned toward Patrick, placing a comforting hand upon his. She locked eyes with him, refusing to lose contact.

"I know you're feeling powerless right now. But you're in control. You have a choice. You can choose to let people defeat you, or you can fight back. You can fight or you can give up and die. Your choice. No one else's."

Her words stung like a bee on a hot summer afternoon. It had been a while since anyone had been that brutally honest with him. This past week or so he had been looking for the right thing to get him back up and motivated a bit.

Maybe she was it.

She let their connect linger a bit longer before gathering her paperwork and standing up.

"We're done for tonight. See you tomorrow, Patrick." She stood up and headed towards the door.

Patrick let her words resonate with him as he brought a hand to rub his temples.

_You can fight or you can give up and die. Your choice._

_Your choice._

_My choice. _

Maybe it was time to take a risk.

"Wait." Patrick said, standing up from his mold in the bed.

"You're right."


	8. Black

_Thanks to those who continue to follow WWW! I appreciate it more than you know and hit 1,000 views today! So, thank you so SO much for those who are still reading and a special thanks to those who continue to review and give their feedback. You are appreciate more than you know. :) This chapter has a bit of George in it, so for those who were wondering, here! Enjoy!_

* * *

Black.

Black sky, black bed frame, black ink.

Black mindset revealed to a slight brightness.

Silence lingered between Patrick and Sophie. All that could be heard were Patrick's uncertain heavy breaths.

"What?" was all the shocked woman could muster up to say.

All this time she had been struggling, fighting, hoping, praying for the right words to say that would trigger something, _anything, _inside this man and finally she had found it. She didn't really think about what she would say or do when this moment came, though.

"I said," Patrick repeated, "You're right." He stared genuinely into her eyes, seeing the slight glimpse of hope shimmer in them.

"Well, shall we start tonight or tomorrow?" She asked breathlessly. She was still spending time wrapping her mind around the fact she had gotten through to him.

"Tomorrow. If, ah, if that's alright."

"Uhm...Yeah. Yes. Yes, tomorrow is perfect. Tomorrow morning." Sophie found herself more flustered than anything, but reminded herself that she was ready for the challenge.

Patrick nodded and sat back down on his bed.

"Talk to you tomorrow then, Patrick."

"Tomorrow," the curly-haired blonde stated.

Sophie nodded back at Patrick before exiting the room. She closed the door, leaned up against it, and let out the most relieving sigh.

Finally.

She was finally getting through to him.

Patrick sat on his bed, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped by his mouth. He had made this choice and he was going to have to stick to it. He retrieved the journal beside his bed as well as a pen that laid nearby.

_ My dearest Angela,  
I'd like to think wherever you are now, you're proud of me. I promise I am going to get better. I will get better for you.  
I promise.  
Love,  
Patrick_

He stared at the writing for a few moments when a small creek came from the door. A round head with the familiar loose, curly, dark hair peeked in. Peter crept comically inside the door and closed it softly behind him, a wide-eyed and shocked expression plastered on his face.

"Whoa. Man. You're, like...not laying down...anymore..."

Patrick nodded, eyes locked on the journal as he closed it and tossed it on the nearby night stand. Peter performed his nightly ritual that Patrick had easily observed and memorized. Pull the trunk out from under the bed, pull out three comic books and a Twinkie, push it back underneath, waddle onto the bed, glimpse at one of the comic books, consume the entire Twinkie, then fall on his right side and fall asleep.

Lest Patrick forget, however, the awkward and paranoid glimpses he took mid-read to make sure Patrick wasn't going to leap on him or something.

"Peter," Patrick began.

An obnoxious gasp came from the childish being across the room. "You CAN talk! I KNEW IT! I knew it this WHOLE TIME. You see, I made this bet with David because he said you couldn't talk at all but I told him! I said, 'No way! He can TOO talk! I just know it!' and whaddaya know?! I was right! He owes me his fruit snacks tomorrow at lunch now! But can you, like, talk in front of him so he believes me and doesn't think I'm just making it up to get the fruit snacks?"

Patrick shrugged and nodded. "Sure, I...I guess. Why not-"

"AAWWESSSOMMMEE!" Peter exclaimed in an unusually higher pitched voice. "And hey I'll even share the fruit snacks with you if you want. I don't really like the yellow ones so you can have those, okay?"

The curly-haired blonde nodded once more. "Okay, that...ah...that sounds good."

Silence fell between the two once more, minus Peters subtle whispers. Patrick attempted his speech of amends once more.

"Peter, I'm sorry for the outrageous outburst when we first met," he explained. "I'm...ah...well, to tell you the truth, I'm not normally like that."

Patrick brought a hand to his mouth replaying the memory in his head.

"Man, it's totally fine. I shouldn't have tried out that sort of joke on you without knowing you first. Like Marvin hates all of my jokes so I know not to pull stuff like that around him anymore, ya know? So now I know when you're around it's 'Hold the phone! No joke zone! Play it cool, Peter. Play. It. Cool.' I just kinda wished I didn't have tah, ya know, almost die to, uh, realize that so...yeah it's totally fine." Peter proceeded to look through his comic book further.

Jane nodded and kept his eyes on the floor. He knew he owed Peter more of an explanation than that.

"My daughter was murdered about a month ago. She was six years old."

Peter's eyes went wide as he looked up at Patrick whose eyes were still focused on the white tile.

"So that's..." Patrick shrugged, unsure of what to say next. He met eyes with the chubby roommate. "I know that excuse doesn't justify my actions, but I wanted to tell you how truly sorry I am. I hope that the first interaction doesn't hinder our potential friendship as roommates."

"N-No. No, it doesn't." Peter finally stated.

"Okay. Good." Patrick practically whispered. He proceeded to lay on his back in his bed, letting the white ceiling consume his path of sight.

Peter tore his Twinkie in half, extending it out to Patrick. "Want half?"

Patrick looked at the offering and nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that." He reached out, taking the half pastry from Peter. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Peter proceeded to take his half and consume it in one consecutive bite. Patrick took a soft bite from one end, savoring the sweet taste it provided.

"D'you wanna know the real reason? Y'know, like, why I'm in here?" Peter asked softly.

"If you want to tell me, sure."

"Well, I didn't kill anyone. I don't think I would ever do that because that's messed up, y'know? But, uh, yeah. I uhm...I hear voices."

Patrick reacted as if he didn't have any knowledge of this before hand. "You hear voices?"

"Yeah," Peter continued. "Like, uh, just like voices. Some of them are my friends, y'know. And I've kinda started being able to tell between real and not real and like the good ones and the bad ones and they're real good here and they're fixing me up real nice but that's why. Swear ta god I didn't kill anyone."

"I believe you," Patrick replied. "No, I believe you."

The ever familiar silence sat between the two.

"So, uh...why are you here? I mean you don't have to tell me or anything, you know. I just figured, you know, since I told you about me that you could tell me about you so it's fair...you know?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Patrick began. He had failed to tell anyone as to why he was in here. Sophie had found out because it was in his file, George had discovered most of it as a result of his clumsiness and curiosity, and to everyone else Patrick remained a mystery. He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

"I pissed off a serial killer and then he killed my wife and my daughter. I fell really deep into a slump I'm still trying to get out of."

"Is that why you tried the big 's' then?"

"Yeah, that's why. I mean, that's part of the reason."

"I would never ever ever in my whole life go and try the big 's'. Ever. I know things suck a lot of the time but I'd never imagine being, y'know, that sad." Peter admitted.

"If you would have asked me if I'd ever do it about a month ago I would have said the same thing, Peter. But sometimes it feels like there's nothing left to live for. So you ask yourself, why should I keep going if this is all I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?"

Peter nodded in agreement. Patrick knew it was him attempting to understand where he was coming from, but he knew someone like Peter would have a hard time wrapping their mind around the concept of suicide. So, Patrick left the conversation where it was. Soon enough, Peter had fallen to his right and assumed his position for sleeping for that night. George came in to check on them for lights out, locked their door, shut off the light, and soon Patrick was friend again with the darkness.


	9. Yellow

Yellow.

Yellow pencils, yellow sun, yellow flowers.

Yellow frames housing pictures of various people.

"Are those people in your family?" Patrick knew the answer would be yes, but figured he'd ask anyways. This being his first legitimate session with Sophie, he needed some sort of 'ice breaker'.

"Yes, those are my nieces and over there is my older brother and my parents and I." She replied, pointing to the pictures as she spoke. "But we aren't here to talk about me, Patrick."

"I know. Curiosity." _No significant other. Slightly intimidated by men and their power. Dresses to impress others._

"So talk to me, Patrick. How have you been feeling lately?"

The blonde man shrugged. "I'm managing. Under the given circumstances."

"And what are those?"

He stared at her for a moment. "You know what they are."

"Let's pretend I don't know."

"But you do know, so why pretend?" Patrick knew the ways of psychology. He knew she was trying to get him to talk about what had happened as if that would provide some sense of mental clarity and inspiration.

"Patrick, y-"

"I know, I know. I need to talk about what happened because it's traumatic and devastating and if I don't say it it'll make me go mad." _Little too late for that, though._

His blunt response took her aback. Never had she had a patient like this.

"So, if you know you need to talk about it and you know I'm trying to get you to talk about it why not save us both the trouble and just talk about it?"

"We both know about it so why not save us the trouble not talking about it since we both know what happened?"

Sophie blinked blankly at the blonde haired man. Best to move on.

"Tell me about your childhood, Patrick."

_Of course. The Freud approach. _"I was raised as a carny boy. My father was a con artist and took advantage of my heightened intelligence and insight."

"Did you go to school?"

"No. I didn't."

She wrote down a few things on her notepad.

_She's assuming this is why I have troubles with social interaction_

"How long did you work as a carny with your father?"

"Up until I was 19."

"What drew you to leave?"

Patrick took a moment, thinking back to that day.

"Angela."

"Your wife?"

The curly haired blonde nodded. _Dead wife. _He wished to correct her. _Dead because of me._

"Tell me about her."

Patrick looked prominently at the yellow patterns in the carpet beneath him, rubbing his thumbs together in his lap.

"Patrick? Can you tell me about Angela?"

Jane shifted his glance from the floor to Sophie's gaze as he spoke, continuing to nervously meddle with his hands in his lap. He spoke as if he selected each word carefully and precisely, speaking slowly like a memory of her popped into his head with each new phrase. "She was...beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. She loved to read. When we first met we would just sit and-and read together while our parents did their stupid con artist acts. She had the most beautiful singing voice. Voice of an angel. And when she danced...you knew she was pouring her whole heart into her dancing. She had this blind optimism. In every situation she would find the good things. She taught me to always look for those things...the good things." Patrick wiped a solemn tear from his cheek.

"And what good things have you found from this situation?" Sophie asked, voice soft and concerned.

"I've...ah...I've tried and I, uh..." He took a moment, bringing his hand to his mouth.

"I'm not quite sure what good things could ever be found in this."

* * *

"Everyone, please take a seat." Dr. Travis rounded up the patients in the circle of orange chairs as he sat down. One seat remained unfilled. Patrick recalled it to belong to Thomas. _Perhaps a similar break down, or oversleeping... _he thought. The nurses regulated group session attendance incredibly well, so it was odd.

This was the first time Patrick had been to group since his outburst. He was half expecting to be stared at with confusion, fear, and potentially anger from the other patients. But no such looks occurred.

"First of all, we'd like to welcome Patrick back into our group." Dr. Travis motioned to Patrick from across the circle as the others applauded kindly.

"Next I would like to talk with you all about something." He glanced at the empty chair. "As some of you might have noticed, Thomas is not here today."

"Where is he?" Marvin asked.

"Unfortunately he passed away last night." A sigh and various reactions came from the group. "I am not entitled to explain how or why, but I thought you all should know."

"Did he kill himself?" David asked, cautiously.

The room fell silent.

"C'mon, doc. You can tell us." Marvin prodded.

Dr. Travis slowly nodded his head. "Yes, he did."

A heavy and tense air inundated the room to its entirety. Lisa and Lana cried, Summer had no emotion, and the rest of them were angry or had no reaction.

"This brings me to what I'd like to talk about with you guys today. All of you have dealt with suicidal thoughts and, or, attempts. If you guys don't mind sharing, what are some of those thoughts that bring you to thinking about taking your own life?"

The familiar silence accompanied the eight person circle.

"W...Well..." Lisa quietly began. "I think about how my life really isn't worth living anymore." She paused. "After my son died, I didn't know what to do. I felt lost, alone, like no one understood... I wanted to be with him."

_Finally someone who understands._

"What about your husband, Lisa?"

"He deserves someone better than me," she admitted. "He was strong for me and I was weak for him. He needed someone else to be strong for him and I couldn't be that person. He wouldn't have cared."

"Isn't that what most people think, though?" Trevor spoke up. "That if we were gone no one would care?"

Lisa retorted, "It's true."

"No. No it isn't, Lisa. I mean, you think in your head that it is the truth but to someone else it isn't." Trevor looked down at his hands. "In the hospital...the day after I tried to kill myself...my mom was there. She didn't know what to do. She felt so bad and never stopped saying 'I love you, Trevvy. I love you.' I felt so bad. Most people don't think about the other people in their lives. Y'know the ones who have to deal when you're gone. We don't think about that. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid, it's our nature." Marvin added. "Everyone is self centered and egotistical and all we give a flying fuck about is ourselves."

"Language, Marvin."

"Sorry, Dr. T."

Lana quietly raised her hand and spoke once Dr. Travis called upon her.

"When I was in the hospital after my first overdose...I was seventeen. This girl from my school, I never talked to her ever in my life. She came to see me and introduced herself and said I helped her pick up her books once, just _once_, in the hallway when she dropped them. She said she admired me and was really happy that I was alive. You never know what people you make an impact on, you know?"

The room quickly filled with nodding heads, most in agreement.

"Let's do this exercise." Dr. Travis began. "Let's go around the circle and say what we're looking forward to once we get out of Heritage Oaks. Marvin? Care to start?"

Each patient took their turn, one by one. Marvin looks forward to falling in love. Lisa wants to be a kindergarten teacher. Summer looks forward to going to college. Trevor also was excited at the thought of falling in love. David looked forward to being a good dad to his kids. Lana looked forward to becoming a psychologist.

"What about you, Patrick?"

Jane was taken aback at the quick demand from the doctor. "Me?"

"Yes, you. What do you look forward to?"

He took a moment to think, then replied. "I'm not quite sure yet."

But Patrick knew. He knew exactly what he was looking forward to.

_Murdering Red John._


	10. Pink

_**A/N: **I will never be able to express enough thanks to thank everyone who has read WWW. I appreciate it more than you know! And please review even if you hate it. I would like to know how to please my readers and how will I know what to improve if no one tells me! I had someone tell me that they wished the chapters were longer, so we're giving that a go tonight. This chapter is a bit longer than others, so we will see how that goes. Thank you to those who continue to give me such helpful and encouraging feedback. I'd also like to mention I don't own any part of the Mentalist and write for sheer enjoyment. Enjoy!_

* * *

Pink.

Pink lips, pink ribbons, pink cheeks.

Pink pills dancing in a small white cup.

The afternoon passed deftly for Patrick. After group session, he attended lunch. He sat with Marvin, Trevor, Peter, and a few of Peter's friends. Afterwards he retreated to his violet chair by the window to watch the kids as they left school that day. He remained there to witness the sunset, eventually being joined by George later on as the clouds turned pink and the sky turned dark. Dinner came next, then evening session with Sophie (which morphed into an interrogation more than anything).

With the slight bit of the smallest piece of progress made from his evening session, Patrick headed back to his room for the night. By now, most patients were in their rooms since lights out was in an hour or so. Plus, it was medication hour.

"These are your new medications." George stated, handing Patrick his small white cup with the medications in it accompanied with a cup of water. "They're trying out something new on you to see if it'll help improve your mood and your depression."

"I'm not very depressed anymore to be honest," Patrick confessed. He knew he wasn't back to one hundred percent, but he definitely was better than he was when he was first admitted.

"Most patients say that, however we still need you to be taking your medications. You're still on Atarax for your anxiety and Ambien to help you sleep, but they're switching out your Zoloft for Amitriptyline. These little pink pills should help stabilize your mood more effectively."

"Do you think my mood needs stabilizing, George?" Patrick glanced up at the nurse.

"Well...I...I really don't know about your, y'know, status as a patient and I don't want to assume anything so I really don't know. They just give me the orders and I follow them, Pat."

"I know. Just curiosity." Patrick smirked up at him, quickly tossing the small cup of pills to drown in the back of his throat. After swallowing, he opened his mouth wide, stuck his tongue out as far as he could, lifted his tongue up, and then relaxed his mouth. It was necessary for them to do mouth checks to be sure patients weren't saving them to over dose on.

"They said some side effects include headaches, dizziness, sometimes hallucinations, blackouts, things like that so be on the look out, okay?"

Patrick nodded obediently.

"How was group session today?" George used to sound obligated to ask about sessions, but he had slowly began to sound genuine with curiosity.

"As good as could be expected." _Sitting in a room with 7 other depressed suicidal people talking about depression and suicide. Not sure what kind of response you're looking for..._

"Well that's good to hear." He smiled at Jane. "I've got to go hunt down Peter to give him his evening meds."

"I've heard he's got a Ping Pong tourney with a few guys from his group going on."

"Yeah," George agreed. "Every full moon night after evening sessions." He headed toward the door. "Stay out of trouble, Pat."

"Can't guarantee anything." Patrick smiled, watching George leave the room. He exhaled and adjusted himself under his blankets and into his bed. He reached to the nearly filled journal and proceeded to fill out its last page.

_Angela,  
If I listen hard enough I can hear your sweet, sweet melodies singing our sweet Charlotte to sleep, playing over and over on repeat. I remembered the funniest thing today. How you used to listen to Josh Groban when his album came out last year. One of his songs came to mind today._

He hummed the tune as he wrote select lyrics down.

_"Who can say for certain, maybe you're still here. I feel you all around me, your memory so clear."_  
_"You are mine forever, love, and you are watching over me from up above."_  
_I'm missing you.  
I should have listened to you when you said I should stop my whole psychic business and find a more substantial job._

_I'm so sorry. I always will be._

_Love always,_  
_Patrick._

He closed the filled journal and laid it back on the night stand, returning to his horizontal position on the bed. He interrogated the white ceiling with his eyes before gracefully drifting into the aided sleep.

* * *

"Princess Charlotte, would you like some tea?"

"No, Daddy! You have to do the voice!" the six-year-old protested.

Patrick smiled, repeating the phrase in a higher pitched, accented, feminine voice. "Princess Charlotte, would you like some tea?"

"Yes, I would! Thank you, Queen!"

The curly-haired blonde man pantomimed pouring tea into the two tea cups set out for each of them.

A feminine voice shouted from the hallway. "Alright your highness. Time for bed!"

"No! Not yet! We still have to finish our tea!"

Angela peeked into the doorway of the room. "Tea can wait until morning. It's past your bed time, darling."

"But, Mommy, it'll be cold by then!"

"Ahh! A dragon is setting out to attack the castle!" Patrick exclaimed, meeting Angela's gaze from across the room. "Hurry! We must get to Marshmallow Mountain to be safe!"

"Not the dragon! Ahh! Hurry, Daddy! Hurry!"

Patrick lifted the grinning blonde child into the air, exclaiming in terror! He flew her around the room, only to end up at her bed to toss her playfully into the pile of pink pillows. Angela proceeded to climb into the pile of pillows with Patrick as they teamed up and tickled little Charlotte.

"Ahh! Stop! Stoooopp!" the tiny human pleaded, giggling with every word. The parents retreated, smiles concrete on their faces.

"Come on, Princess. Under the covers." Patrick lifted up the blankets atop the bed and Charlotte scooted underneath them. Her brilliantly bright blue eyes stared up at Patrick in awe.

"Always remember, Charlotte," he began. "You are safe. You are loved. You are wise." He leaned forward to give his lovely daughter a gentle kiss upon her pale forehead.

Suddenly the young child gasped in panic, frantically searching the surrounding pillows and stuffed animals. "Where's Stella?!"

"Oh, honey. I think you left Stella down stairs." Angela cooed.

"Never fear! I'll run to rescue the lost hippopotamus!" Patrick leapt to his feet, jogging out of the room and down stairs. He found the pink stuffed animal hippo laying at the end of the couch in their living room. A smile plastered to his face, he grabbed the stuffed animal deftly and headed back up the stairs.

"I have returned with the animal!" Patrick announced as he reached the door, turning the knob.

Locked.

_How odd. I don't remember shutting the door... or locking it for that matter..._

He knocked gently on the pink door. "Your highness? I've retrieved your noble steed! Wouldst thou be so kind to let me in?"

Letting a moment pass in hopes of it being filled with a response, Patrick began to panic.

"Angela...? Charlotte...?" He dropped the stuffed animal, yanking and twisting the locked door knob as hard as he could.

It was oddly silent.

He raised his voice as loud as he could. "ANGELA! ANGELA, LET ME IN! CHARLOTTE?" His fists met the door with thunderous force, but the impact was not helpful. He placed his ear up against the door.

A low-pitched malicious laughter taunted him from the other side.

_Click._

The previously locked door opened slowly to the young child's room.

All lights off.

Except one lamp shining onto the wall.

Blood stained the wall with a message.

**You can't escape me, Patrick.**

* * *

The blonde man jerked awake, his face soaked with perspiration. He felt his pulse racing violently beneath his chest, staring at the familiar white ceiling.

"Dude..." he heard from the side of the room. The voice startled him, causing him to jolt upwards and extend his arms for protection.

There stood Peter, armed in a back swing with a plastic green light saber staring wide-eyed at the panicked man. "You okay?"

Patrick swallowed a midst the furious panting. He shoved all the blankets off of him in hopes to help cool him down a bit faster. He spoke to Peter breathlessly, keeping his eyes on the floor in front of him. "How...How bad was it?"

Peter slowly lowered his light saber toward the ground, refusing to shift his gaze to anything but Patrick. "Uhm...not as bad the past few nights, but still kinda bad. You started shouting for Angela and Charlotte again."

Patrick nodded, still attempting to control his violent breathing. He laid back down on his side, holding the blue blankets tight to him. He met the gaze of the moon outside the window as he placed his head back on his pillow.

"Sorry, Peter." he meekly apologized.

"Hey, dude. It's fine. You...you know...don't really have much control over that, man. Don't even worry about it." Peter responded. "I had a cousin who had night terrors once and I had to live with that for a few months, y'know, with the screaming and the crying and all that stuff so this is totally nothing."

Patrick nodded, keeping his gaze with the full moon shining bright outside the window, the image of that phrase remaining prominent in his head.

**You can't escape me, Patrick.**

* * *

"What do you think that message means, Patrick?" Sophie interrogated at their morning session the next day.

"I'm not exactly sure." _It means he will never leave me alone. He will never let me be. He will never let me move on. I got myself into this and he's not letting me out._

"You've got to have at least a slight hunch of what you think these dreams mean."

"I know what they mean," he confessed.

"You just said you weren't exactly sure, though."

He ignored her comment. "Each individual dream is symbolic in its own way. Every dream I've had represents these emotions I have towards myself and Red John and these circumstances."

"Have they given you any insight?"

_Only that I need to find this son of a bitch and kill him. _"Only to the possibility that I may never want to leave him alone."

"What do you mean by that?"

Patrick paused for a moment. "I mean that as each day goes by I grow slightly more obsessed with the thought of finding this man and getting revenge."

"Revenge how?"

_Good god, Sophie. Do I have to spoon feed it all to you? _"Not exactly sure yet." _Killing him myself, you moron._

A look of concern immediately found a home on Sophie's face. "You've got a plan, don't you?"

"Not yet, no." This was the truth. Patrick knew somehow, someway he was going to get back at Red John and kill him. As to how...he wasn't entirely sure.

"On a separate note, how are you doing on your Amitriptyline?"

"Fine. Nothing different." Those little pink pills had only approached him twice so far-once last night and once this morning. They pay particularly special attention to potential side effects and basically try out each medication they can until they find the one that reacts with your brain the best.

"Are you feeling better? Mood wise?"

"Sophie, I've told you. I haven't been deeply suicidal or depressed much or at all in the past few days. I'm fine."

"Yeah, well a lot of patients say the same thing and then hang themselves with their sheets." she blatantly explained.

"I can assure you I won't be doing that any time soon. Rest assured."

_I'm not dying until Red John is dead._

"Well, keep taking your medications anyways. We'll take you off of them if we see fit."

Patrick nodded. "Are we done for today?" he glanced up at the clock. Sophie followed his eyes to the clock as well.

"Why? Late for something?"

"The kids," he explained. "They're coming out for recess soon."

Sophie smiled, knowing that he enjoyed watching the innocent children play, worry free. "Yes, we're done."

"Thank you," he stood up and hurriedly exited the therapists room making his way to his usual spot in the Common Room Area.

To his surprise, a young blonde girl sat in the chair opposite to his purple one, staring out the window. Too young to be in this place. His pace immediately slowed to cautious steps, all color draining from his face.

The little girl looked up at him, brilliantly bright blue eyes gleaming in the pink filter of the sun behind a translucent cloud as her face lit up with a smile.

"Daddy!"


	11. Gold

_**A/N:**__Thanks for continuing to read WWW! A few things: An anonymous reader stated that they mentioned in Red Dawn that Patrick stayed in the asylum for 6 months. I'm still watching the seasons (I'm just starting the fifth) and have not reached that episode and didn't know they had a set time period for him to be in the asylum… So this fic is not one hundred percent canon in regards to that time span because the total time, if I stay at the current time frame, won't be up to six months unless I put in a huge skip (which I most likely will not do). My apologies if some of you are disappointed that it doesn't fit in canon perfectly. Also with the hallucinations, I know the first time he hallucinates Charlotte (at least as a teen) is in Devil's Cherry, but this is an idea I love playing with so bear with me. I'm trying to make these chapters longer as well. All things I'm learning in this process. Thank you to those who continue to review and give me feedback. It is appreciated more than you know. Enjoy Chapter 11!_

* * *

Gold.

Gold socks, gold paintings, gold chair.

Gold hair glistening in the sunlight.

Patrick stared at the small child for a few moments, blinking his eyes repeatedly to make sure he knew what he was seeing. He looked around the room to see if any of the other patients noticed. They all carried on, not seeming to be bothered in the slightest (or bothered any more than they normally were, for that matter…) by this little girl.

Who was he kidding? This wasn't just any little girl.

This was Charlotte.

His daughter.

"Daddy, come here!" she exclaimed, her face bright with joy.

Patrick felt his heart rate increase as he moved closer, cautiously sitting down in his normal violet chair. He kept eye contact with the tiny human, not one hundred percent sure what to think. Hallucination? Red John?

"Charlotte?" he whispered curiously.

"Yes?" she answered obediently.

"Who told you to come here?"

"Nobody! I wanted to come see you! I miss you."

Red John had to have set this up. Charlotte, his daughter, was dead. Patrick glanced out the window at the children playing on the playground, immediately directing his attention to the swings. He needed to find the girl who had reminded him of Charlotte—same blonde curly hair, same violet boots, same bright and joyful smile. He scanned the swing sets, no sight of the girl.

Until she came running around the corner from the slide to take her usual spot on the swings.

_Good, because the day Red John starts manipulating and using children is the day I draw the line._

_Bad, because that means I'm hallucinating._

"Daddy, aren't you happy to see me?"

Patrick brought his eyes back to Charlotte, attempting to hold back his tears at the sight of her.

"Yes, darling…Yes. I—" he swallowed, shaking his head, looking down at the tile, then back up into her brilliantly bright blue eyes. "I am so very happy to see you."

He opened his arms, motioning for her to come into his lap. She did so obediently. Patrick wrapped his arms around her as tight as he could. It brought him unbelievable distraught to know that someone who felt so real, wasn't. Following the hug, she sat herself on Patrick's lap.

"It's an adventure day today, Dad!"

Patrick smiled, remembering his persuasive ways of getting Charlotte to go outside. _"When the grass is really super green, the sun is really super bright, and the birds are chirping really super loud, those are adventure days! That's when we have to make sure to go outside for a bit of time."_

She hopped off his lap and tugged at his hand. "C'mon! Adventure day! Let's go!"

Patrick rose and obeyed, following the young child to the door that lead to the courtyard. He nodded and smiled briefly at the door guard and waited as he opened the door for him and his hallucination to go through. Charlotte had let go of his hand to bolt to the beautifully well-kept green grass.

The fresh air hit Patrick like a slap to the face. Sure, he'd opened the window to its capacity every so often when he was in his room to get a slight breeze of the warm autumn air, but he hadn't been _outside_ outside since his admittance a few weeks ago. His skin invited the golden warmth of the sun, his white clothing brightly repelling it. He closed his eyes, breathing in a much needed deep breath.

To say going outside was refreshing, rejuvenating, and relinquishing to the curly-haired blonde would be an immense understatement.

"Come here, Daddy! Come play!" she giggled excitedly as she rolled around in the grass.

A smile lit up on Patrick's face as he ran across the courtyard to his daughter. No other patients were there, except Patrick, so he felt comfortable playing with his hallucination out of the sights of others. He took off his slippers, tossing them toward a wall.

He ran up to her, scooping her in his arms. Charlotte giggled and screamed wildly as Patrick shifted to move her and put her on his shoulders. The young child extended her arms high up into the air, smiling as she let her face soak up the beaming rays of sun. Patrick trotted lightly around the grassed areas, feeling the coolness of it beneath his bare feet.

"I'm as tall as a building!" she exclaiming, continuing to reach her arms to the sky.

"You're a giant!" Patrick laughed, still trotting around the grassed areas.

"Wait! Down! Down!" she pressed her hands on the soft tousles of Patrick's hair. He stopped in his tracks, reaching his hands to grab her and bring her back down onto the grass.

"What shall we play now, your highness?"

"I am a princess, and…" she thought for a second. "…and YOU are the dragon trying to set my castle on fire!"

She ran quickly to one of the picnic tables provided, the prominent smile still displaying on Patrick's face. He ran after her, flapping his arms and roaring deeply as a dragon. Charlotte screamed, taking cover underneath the table.

Patrick spoke deeply, obnoxiously, and playfully. "I'm going to get you, Princess!"

"You can call me George…" a voice spoke from across the courtyard.

Patrick gasped, shooting himself upright. He blinked blankly, not quite sure what to say for himself. He knew if he let them know of the hallucinations they would take him off the medication. Best to keep quiet.

"Daddy, who's that?" Charlotte questioned.

"You're…ah…You're late for group. They asked me to come find you." George explained, not wanting to go further into the actions seen prior to the conversation.

"Oh, yes. Yeah. Group. Coming." Patrick looked over at Charlotte, raising his eyebrows at her as a notion to follow. She did so obediently, following Patrick as he jogged back inside, suppressed laughter begging to come out.

"You going to tell me what that was about?" George protested.

"Just…having a little fun is all." Patrick smiled, looking down at his daughter. She held his hand and skipped, giggling every so often.

"Uh-huh…" George knew something was fishy, however he wasn't one to poke. He opened the door to C4, holding it open for Patrick. "Have fun."

Patrick turned, smiling at George. "Sure will."

He kept Charlotte's hand in his as they walked into the room, the familiar group of patients already sitting in a circle.

"Patrick. How nice of you to join us." Dr. Travis remarked.

"My apologies, doctor." Patrick spoke, taking his seat. "I got caught up in the beautiful day outside." The hallucination hopped into Patrick's lap, leaning her head against his chest.

"I told you it was nice outside today!" Lana exclaimed, directing her comment at Marvin. "Go outside sometime, you hermit!"

Marvin took offense. "How about you go and—"

"Alright, then! We will have none of that in our session today, thank you." Dr. Travis interrupted. "How is everyone today?"

Conversation ensued amongst the group. Charlotte hopped out of Patrick's lap, grabbing his hand. "Daddy, come on! Adventure day!"

"Shh.." Patrick tried whispering to her, shaking his head and eyeing for her to return to his lap.

"But why?! I wanna go back outside!"

He raised his eyebrows at her, eyeing once more for her to return to his lap. She groaned, stomping back to his lap as he helped her up. She crossed her arms defiantly as she laid her head back against his chest.

Patrick sat obediently through group, occasionally kissing the top of Charlotte's head. He was relieved at the fact he was in a mental institution, otherwise kissing and holding the air would be mildly concerning behavior. He had to keep his actions to a minimum, though. Patrick knew if he was too bold with any actions or words, someone would figure it out and they would take him off his medications.

He had already lost her once. He couldn't afford to lose her again.

* * *

"George tells me you were in the courtyard yesterday?" Sophie interrogated at the following mornings' session.

Patrick nodded, taking note of Charlotte out of the corner of his eye. She sat on the floor beside his chair playing "Pat-a-cake" with the carpeted floor.

"What were you doing outside?"

"Enjoying the fresh air…" he answered simply.

"It was an adventure day!" Charlotte added, excitedly.

"Was that all you were doing?"

Patrick nodded confidently.

"We were playing giants and then we played Princess and the Dragon! Princess and the Dragon is my favorite! We usually play it every night before I go to bed."

A smile crept onto Patrick's face. He looked down, trying to conceal it from Sophie.

"I'm guessing the medication is working then…" Sophie retorted.

"Why's that?" Patrick responded quickly, shy of panic. "I mean...why do you think that?"

Sophie eyed him oddly. "Patrick, yesterday morning you were ghostly. I mean, not as bad as you have been, of course. But still you lacked color in your face and motivation in your movements. But last night and this morning it's like you're a whole different person. Your face is brighter, you're smiling more, you seem…happy." She paused, meeting Patrick's gaze. "Are you happy, Patrick?"

"Yes." he answered simply_ I am the happiest I have been since that night._

"Well, if you're happy then we might as well lower your dosage of the amitriptyline and put you on something else for a lesser intense depression."

"No!" he responded quickly, startling Charlotte. He swallowed, feeling his heart pulsate beneath his chest. "I mean, you can't lower my dosage, right? What if that throws everything off? Why not keep me on it and then I'll stay un-depressed? No need to switch or anything."

Sophie eyed the blonde curly-haired man. "We don't want you to become dependent upon the drug to keep your mood lifted, though. That's why we will ease you off of it so you can adapt and your brain can create those hormones on its own."

"I'm not ready for that yet." Patrick admitted. _I'm not ready to let her go. Not again. I'm not doing it._

"Other than the lift in your mood, how are you taking to the new medication? Any side effects?"

_I see and play with my dead daughter. _"Nope."

"Not even a headache?"

"Nope."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." he protested.

"Okay," she finally agreed, writing a few things down in her notebook. "We will keep you on it just to see if your brain is acting impulsively on the major shift in hormones. If your mood proceeds to stay like this, we will start easing you off of it. But for now, we'll remain at your regular dosage."

Patrick nodded, glancing briefly down at Charlotte before taking his gaze back to Sophie.

"Can we go yet, Daddy?"

Sophie concluded her writing and looked up at Patrick. "We are done for this morning. I will see you later, Patrick."

Patrick nodded and smiled once more, heading for the door.

"Patrick?" Sophie persisted.

He turned around quickly, raising his eyebrows at the psychiatrist. "Yes?"

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

He blinked, responded quickly. "No. No, I don't think so."

"Are you sure?"

She stared him down as if she knew what was going on, but wanted him to tell her first. There was no way he'd be telling her what was going on. Not yet.

"Yes, I'm sure." he responded, smiling.

"C'mon, Daddy!" Charlotte tugged at his shirt. Patrick smiled at Sophie before obediently following the hallucination.

He couldn't stand the fact of losing her again. He needed to find a way to convince Sophie he was miserable and needed the drugs.

The duo retreated out of the hallway into the main hallway.

"I made some art earlier and I want to show it to you!" Charlotte exclaimed, dragging him by the hand down the hallway to C1—the art room. He smiled obnoxiously, getting excited to see what she had created. She always had been more creative than Patrick and Angela combined.

They arrived at the door as Patrick reached for the doorknob.

"Wait!" Charlotte pleaded. "Daddy, you have to promise me something."

"Anything, darling."

"Promise me you won't hate it."

Patrick laughed, "I won't hate it, honey. I bet it's beautiful." He opened the door, face filled with excitement and anticipation.

All joy, color, and brightness vanished from his complexion.

The walls.

The white walls.

White walls stained crimson.

Crimson with the face.

_His_ face.

Every wall, every corner, every size.

Everywhere.


	12. Gray

_**A/N: **This chapter is a bit shorter, only because I wasn't one hundred percent sure what I wanted to do with it. I honestly may come back later and add some more, so be on the look out for updates. It's a bit heavy right now, but rest assured there's a lighter weighted chapter coming soon. Thanks again to those who continue to read and review :)_

* * *

Gray.

Gray tables, gray chairs, gray blinds.

Gray textured tile speckled crimson.

"Do you love it, Daddy?" Charlotte inquired. "You always told me anything blank like a piece of paper was screaming to be made into art, so that's why I did! I decorated all the walls!"

Patrick stood inside the room, horrified. It took a minute to remind himself this was a silly hallucination.

How could something so undeniably fake create emotions so real?

"Honey, who told you to paint these?"

"No one told me! I just wanted to paint some smiley faces! See?" She ran to a bucket of thick red liquid, dipped her hand inside, and proceeded to paint another face on the wall.

She turned around, pleased with her work, only to find her father had quickly bolted out the door.

Patrick ran as fast as he could from the room, the hallway walls covered ceiling to floor in the red smiley face. A deep voice laughed at him as he ran through the halls back to his room.

He slammed the door open and shut as fast as he could, breathing heavy and rapid. He shut his eyes trying to calm himself. He opened his eyes to find his room to have the same smiley faces taunting him at every angle, every size, everywhere. On his bed laid his daughter, throat slit, blood everywhere, similar to how he found her that dreadful night. Above the bed was the same message as he'd seen in his dreams nights before.

**"You can't escape me, Patrick."**

He went to the corpse of his daughter, tears quickly filling his eyes as he clutched to her.

This didn't make sense! He wanted to prevent losing her again by staying on the medication, but he did the opposite?

Patrick released the girl, his head throbbing uncontrollably. Blood covered his chest, lap, and arms. He got up, rereading the familiar message on the wall, and ran as fast as he could out of the room.

"You can't escape me, Patrick."

The curly-haired blonde shot his head up to a man-the same man who visited him in solitary during his first few days. Same suit, same crimson red time, same voice.

"Okay, I realize that was being a bit redundant but I wasn't sure if I had gotten my point across completely."

"Leave me alone."

"Patrick, you know I can't do that. I'm up inside your grapefruit!" he got closer to Patrick's face. "You know you don't want me to leave you. After all, right now I am just a figment of your imagination."

The man leaned as close as he could to his ear, whispering softly. "It's no one's fault but your own."

Patrick immediately launched himself at Red John, tackling him to the ground. He threw a few heavy punches before reaching for his throat, gripping as hard as he could with his bare hands.

"Patrick! Patrick stop!" George gasped for air underneath the raging mans wrathful grip.

Three burly guards ran down the hallway immediately ripping Patrick off of the innocent male nurse.

"NO! STOP! LET GO OF ME! LET GO OF ME!" Patrick yelled, continually fighting off the men before a sharp pain stabbed the back of his neck.

His struggled slowly faded, his vision blurring to multiple shades of gray.

* * *

The familiar white walls of solitary surrounded the restrained Patrick Jane. After an outburst like this one, he wasn't sure when they'd get to releasing him. Since he'd been sedated in the hallway, Patrick had no idea of what time it was, what day it was, when he had eaten last, or if he was still heavily medicated or if they'd wished to clear his system of all drugs to get rid of the hallucinations.

The door opened, Sophie welcoming herself inside. She brought a chair with her, just as before when he'd first met her. She proceeded to set the chair down beside Patrick's bed and sit herself in the chair.

She stared, almost with pity, at the restrained man. She began with a deep inhale and a matching exhale.

"Patrick."

She spoke as if she was a mother gently scolding a small child for eating a cookie before dinner.

"Patrick, I think you need to realize something. You may think that you have this all figured out. You may think that putting on your front that everything going on inside that wild brain of yours is okay and will be effective. You may think that you'll be fine hallucinating your dead family to get yourself through the rest of your life."

Patrick kept his eyes locked on the white ceiling.

"You're wrong, Patrick. I don't know what I have to do to get that through your thick skull. You aren't going to get better if you don't tell us how your body is reacting to the medications we are trying to use to help you, do you understand?" She waited a moment to let this (hopefully) resonate with Patrick. "Were you seeing or hearing things?"

"...both" he answered, childlike.

"What were you seeing and hearing?"

He paused, remembering the hallucinations. "My daughter."

"Your daughter? Your dead daughter?"

Patrick nodded. _No, the one I've got alive living upstate. YES THE DEAD ONE. _

"What did you do with her?"

"We...we played outside for a bit. She would follow me around to group and to sessions with you and then we'd sit and talk, or color." _Things I did with her while she was alive._

Sophie leaned forward more towards Patrick. "Look, you need to promise me that if you start experiencing these things, you will tell someone. Preferably me. Then we can get you adjusted on another medication. Hiding the fact you were hallucinating your dead daughter was a stupid thing to do."

He turned his gaze to the brunette psychiatrist. "Sophie, have you ever lost anyone before?"

She shook her head. "No one that is very close to me, no. I haven't."

"So you don't know what it's like."

"No, I don't know what it's like losing people close to you. But I do understand loss and the effects is has on a person."

"You don't know," he retorted. "You don't know what it's like walking in your house to your spouse and child, slaughtered and laying in a pool of their own blood. You don't know what it's like to make unplanned funeral plans for the only two people who meant anything to you. You don't know the feeling of the empty, gaping hole that sits in your soul that won't be filled again because they're gone. The two people who meant everything, _everything_, to you are gone for good. I'll never hear the sound of my daughters laughter again. I'll never see my wife dance again. I'll never walk my daughter down the aisle. Sophie, for me to get that chance to hear my daughters laughter and see her bright smile, even if it is just a figment of my imagination, was incredible. And was something I would never turn in for the world."

"Even if that means attacking and almost killing the one nurse who has befriended you and supported you?"

Patrick sighed, closing his eyes. "I thought he was Red John. He was hallucinated as Red John. I swear I would never do that to George in the rightness of my mind."

"Yeah, well how do we know that now? You didn't hesitate to attack Peter in the 'rightness of your mind' when you first met him."

"I was unstable."

"And you still are, Patrick." She took a moment, letting the silence linger between them. "Believe it or not you are just as unstable today as you were the day you walked in here. You aren't going to get better until you want to get better. You have to let go."

Patrick kept his eyes closed, breathing in and out deeply before responding. "I can't."

"Then maybe that is something we need to work on." Sophie stated, matter-of-factually before rising out of her chair. "I'll see you later today. Your system might toss you a little because you're going through slight withdrawal, however you should be fine."

"Wait," Patrick pleaded before she left the room. "Can you please send in George?"

Sophie sighed, followed by a gently nod before leaving the room. A few moments passed before the door opened once more, the blonde haired male nurse appearing in the doorway. He had two stitched cuts by his right eye from the punches Patrick packed with slight bruising forming around each wound. He moved further into the room, slowly shutting the door behind him and leaning on the wall next to him.

"You...ah...you wanted to see me?"

"George, you have to know. I am so sorry. I truly am. I didn't mean to hurt you at all. I promise."

George nodded slightly, shifting his eye contact to the ground.

"I was hallucinating. I thought..."

The moment sat between them for a while. "You thought...?" George questioned.

Patrick sighed. "I thought you were Red John. That's why."

"Oh. That would explain things then."

"Yes, exactly. Please know I had no intention on hurting you. I had meant to hurt Red John."

"No, I understand that. But..."

The familiar silence lingered between the two once more.

"But..." Patrick prodded.

"I just..." George was undeniably shaken up by this incident. "The anger in your eyes, Pat. I...I don't know. I mean, I grew up with an angry abusive drunk dad so I know angry but you...I have never seen someone so angry before in my life. It was honestly terrifying."

Patrick nodded. _When someone kills your family, you tend to have a pent up rage inside you that will be released when you see them. _

George shook his head, "Thank you for the apology. I forgive you. Just...might have to take some time before I can look at you the same, Pat."

"I understand."

George nodded before leaving the room.

Silence quickly filled the space. Patrick lost his thoughts in the mesmerizing white ceiling.

Now it would take even longer to get out of this place.


	13. Olive

_**A/N: **__I realize I haven't updated in two days! It was torture to put a slight hiatus in my 'update-every-day' routine, but life happens unfortunately. Anyways, back to writing! Thanks to those who continue to post reviews. I will always thank you guys for giving your feedback. I appreciate it more than words can say. I also apologize in advance if some of this doesn't make sense, as I am writing a midst extreme sleep deprivation. But I really wanted to update tonight. So, enjoy chapter 13!_

* * *

Olive.

Olive grass, olive robe, olive slippers.

Olive hand cuffs disguised as bracelets gripping wrists tight beneath them.

Patrick had re-familiarized himself with the white-walled room he had previously called home. He had been given the rest of the day to be by himself in the small room.

_The "go to your room and think about what you've done" treatment. Rarely effective. _

The following day, Sophie was the first to encounter Patrick. She entered the room accompanied by a tray with various breakfast items on it.

"Hungry?" she asked the lump of a human, closing the door behind her.

Patrick shook his head, remaining in his position of sitting on the floor against the wall, legs crossed in front of him. He stroked his finger nail up and down the length of his inner forearm.

Sophie set the tray of food down on the bed, taking a seat beside it. "Sleep well?"

Patrick's gaze remained concrete on the floor in front of him. "No. Not so much."

"And why's that?" Sophie prodded. "Not tired?"

Patrick exhaled with exhaustion. "Because every time I close my eyes, he's all I see." His bloodshot eyes stared intently at the floor, refusing to lose focus. He brought the hand he was scratching his forearm with into his lap.

Sophie nodded with understanding, letting a brief silence linger before continuing to speak. "We're going to let you go a few days without any medication in hopes of kind of cleaning out your system. So, no medication for a while." She grabbed a piece of toast off the tray and extended it to the man on the floor. "But you need to eat something. And you should try to sleep a little bit."

"I told you I'm not hungry and I'm not sleeping." His voice was soft, hoarse, and intense.

"Patrick, be reasonable."

_I am being reasonable. I don't feel like eating and I don't want to have any more dreams of my family being murdered and not being able to do anything about it. _

"One bite and I'll leave you alone," she bargained.

Patrick glanced up at her with disgust. He snatched the toast, bit off a small piece from the corner, and tossed it across the room. "There."

"...just like a child..." Sophie whispered under her breath. Patrick ignored the comment and brought his focus back to the floor.

Sophie wasn't entirely sure what this man was seeing so in-depth in the flooring. What Sophie did know is she hungered to get inside the head of this man. She had been studying him for weeks and still felt completely lost at even beginning to understand his mental capacities.

"Neil is your new watch nurse."

Patrick kept at his gaze. "Did I scare George away?"

Sophie chuckled lightly, "No. Well...maybe a little bit. George just needed to take some time for himself. He's taking a week or so to visit his family, get some air, take some time for him."

The lump of human sitting on the floor remained emotionless, not seeming to care at all.

"...but Neil is great." Sophie continued. "He's sort of new, but still knows what he's doing. Be good to him."

_I can't guarantee anything._

"How long am I stuck in here this time?"

"Well," Sophie answered, "we're going with seven days. Then we will see where you're at, how you're doing, and we'll see what comes after that."

Patrick nodded, blood-shot eyes refusing to flinch from the gaze.

Sophie stood up, grabbing the tray. "Since you aren't hungry, I'm going to take this and go. I'll come back and see you in a while."

The psychiatrist left the room just as quickly as she came. For the next number of days, conversation revolved around a similar dialogue. The lack of medications returned Patrick Jane to the depressed, raged, self-loathing robot he was when he first arrived at Heritage Oaks.

Sophie saw this as a blank slate 'experiment'. After removing all drugs from his system over a course of a few days, they began re-evaluating his condition to determine what medications would be best.

"Four days was enough time for us to gather the information we needed from you, Patrick. We're going to be starting you on your new medications tomorrow."

"What'd you evaluate about me, doc?" Patrick asked, slightly more intrigued at the idea of being psychoanalyzed. He resided on the twin bed provided, laying on his back staring blankly at the ceiling.

Sophie sighed, dreading the explanation. "We've concluded that you are a narcissistic sadist suffering with depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, and prolonged grief disorder."

Patrick rose his eyebrows. "Two out of five isn't too bad..."

"Excuse me?" Sophie retorted.

"Well, okay. I agree with the depression and PTSD, but narcissistic? Really?"

A look of utter confusion made itself dominant on Sophie's face. She was surprised at the instant depth of his response, knowing that he didn't particularly enjoy talking. Especially to her. The relaxed manner of which he spoke was shocking.

She stuttered to try and explain herself. "W-Well...yes. Narcissistic. You...You obviously think very highly of yourself. You have a sense of exaggerated self-confidence."

"And this is based on...?"

"Based on interviews and videos I've found of you." Sophie explained. She had researched Patrick Jane up, down, left, right, front, and back to be sure to get a perspective of this broken, broken man. "On every talk show, in front of every audience you are slightly arrogant and egotistical. Now, this is something that has obviously changed because of the circumstances, however the personality trait is still there."

Patrick took a minute to think.

"Okay, you have a point. I can't see sadistic, though."

She glared at the man from her spot in a chair from across the room.

"Come on, you seriously believe I'm a sadist?"

"Peter, Red John, George..." Sophie listed off.

"Sadists enjoy their suffering. I was just angry and hit the closest thing to me."

"...that happened to be humans...both times..."

Patrick shook his head. _I know I'm not sadistic and I don't need to convince you of it. _"Now, prolonged grief? That sounds made up."

"It isn't," Sophie reassured. "It's something they're just discovering that isn't quite depression, but a prolonged sadness for the deceased."

Patrick nodded, bringing his eye lids to a close.

"You agree?" Sophie asked, excitedly.

"No." he admitted. "What exactly is 'prolonged' anyways? How long is too long to be upset about your family being murdered?" Patrick sat himself up and looked straight at Sophie. "My family was murdered 6 weeks ago. My _only family_. My wife and daughter, they were it for me. Six weeks. _Six weeks_, Sophie." He kept his eyes staring straight into hers. "You're telling me that my 'grieving' is taking too long so it needs to become a disorder?"

"Not so much a disorder, Patrick," she began, "but a way to help you cope slightly better. We can give you medications to help you with it all."

"Can or will?"

Sophie took a moment. "We _will_ be giving you medications to help you with it all...okay?"

Patrick nodded.

"Since this is your fifth day and you've been decent so far, I'm giving you outing privileges." She handed him an olive colored robe and a match pair of slippers. "You can go out and about the unit for one hour each day. Where you go and what you do is completely up to you, but Neil will be playing babysitter."

Patrick nodded, taking the robe and slippers and placing them on his flat stomach.

"You'll be getting your medications tomorrow morning," Sophie added as she helped herself out of the room. "If you want out, knock to the tune of 'Yankee Doodle' okay? Neil will come and get you and then you can go."

A slight smile arose on Patrick's face. Charlotte knew how to play Yankee Doodle on her recorder.

"Patrick?"

"Yes?"

"Understand the protocol?"

The curly-haired blonde nodded.

"Okay. I'll see you tonight then, Patrick. Stay out of trouble."

Patrick nodded, waited about five to ten minutes before knocking in the familiar tune. The door creaked open, revealing a male, roughly 24, decent amount of piercings and tattoos, with an olive coloured shirt on.

"Yeah?" he asked, his breath smelling of cigarettes and mint.

"I was told you are my new babysitter?"

"...yeah," the man in the doorway remarked, obnoxiously chomping on his gum.

"...so...can we go somewhere?"

"Where to exactly?" Neil was skeptical of Patrick's sanity. (But for the record, so was Patrick)

"Just the common room. We'll just sit there for a little while."

"...that's all you want to do? Go sit in a different room?" Neil was obviously dumbfounded. "Why can't you do that here?"

"Can you please just take me where I want to go or do I have to attack you too to get a different watch nurse?"

Neil rolled his eyes, agreeing to the task. He opened the door, securing Patrick's hands with the olive colored wrist restraints (a.k.a. fancy hand cuffs) and lead him to the common room.

There sit Patrick's violet chair sitting by the window waiting for him. "Right there," he pointed to Neil. The duo went to sit down, the sun shining in from the window. A grin grew on Patrick's face once he noticed the children were outside playing. They sat in silence for the entirety of the hour, until Neil insisted they get back to solitary as his time was up.

Patrick was interested in Neil. He knew he wanted to get to know him, but didn't quite know how yet.

* * *

Day seven of solitary had finally arrived! The curly haired blonde could only stand so much time trapped in the white walled room with only being able to escape for an hour each day. He hadn't been this thrilled for anything since he could remember.

Sophie walked into the room with her usual clip board and accessories, taking a seat on the bed next to Patrick. They performed the routine "How are you's" and such before Patrick finally asked his ever longing question.

"Am I getting released from solitary today?"

Sophie looked slightly confused. "Why would you be getting released from solitary today?"

Some color drained from Patrick's face. "You said...you said seven days. Seven days, one week, after that we'll see where it goes and things have been going well so can't I go back in the unit?"

"Well...not necessarily." she added. "When I said we'd see where it goes, I meant we would see what happens to you as a result of the medications, which seem to be going well..."

"Exactly," Patrick added. "They're going well so I can go back into the unit now, right?"

Sophie approached each word with grave caution. "We still need to wait a few more days to fully understand your condition, Patrick. And..." The psychiatrist looked down.

Patrick stuck his head slightly more forward. "...and...?"

"Patrick, you have to understand we can't put the safety of other patients and nurses in jeopardy."

"You...what? I thought we decided my outbursts were from me being of medications but now I'm on them and..."

"But that doesn't mean it won't happen again."

Patrick scoffed, countenance disgusted. _You lied to me._

"Patrick, we just need a little more independent time with you in here. Just a bit more. Not much."

_How long are they going to keep me trapped here? They think they're preventing my insanity when in actuality they're feeding it._

"I'm sorry, Patrick. We can't release you back into the unit until we know that you are decently stable."

_Well, good thing being a psychic required good acting skills._


	14. Ginger

**_A/N:_**_Hello, all! I apologize for the decent hiatus. Life happened and it's been pretty crazy lately. But I'll be updating more often now! Sorry to leave you all hanging! Let's get back into the swing of things. Thank you to those who continue to read and review. It's appreciated immensely. _

* * *

Ginger.

Ginger bottle, ginger tea, ginger tray.

Ginger cup warming petite pale palms.

Sophie sat across the white-walled room, her eyes locked with the mad man laying down on the bed in the opposing corner.

"How are you feeling today, Patrick?"

"Tired," he admitted, remaining in his position on the bed.

"I see you ate all of your breakfast today..." she commented, glancing at the empty breakfast tray at the foot of the bed.

"Is that so surprising?" Patrick retorted. "I am a human, you know. I do need to eat."

"Seeing that this is the first you've eaten breakfast in the time you've been in isolation, I can comfortably say that it is decently surprising."

She let the silence linger momentarily, provided Patrick with some time to explain himself if he wished.

_What can I say? I'm a changed man._ The sarcastic thought caused a smile to sneak onto his face.

"Something funny?"

Patrick shook his head, adjusting the blankets and bringing himself to a sitting position.

"Are you okay, Patrick?"

"No," he quickly responded. "But you know this. The wires in my head have frazzled and I'm working on repairing them." _I, Patrick Jane, just said the word 'frazzled'. I must be mad._

"You've...come to terms with your slight insanity?" Sophie inquired.

"'Slight' insanity?" Patrick repeated. "My first day here I tried to kill myself. I nearly killed my roommate at first sight, was completely content with the fact I was hallucinating my dead daughter, and attacked my nurse because I thought he was the man who murdered my family." He kept his eyes locked with Sophie's. "Dr. Miller, I think we both know my insanity is more long gone than 'slightly'. Don't you agree?"

Sophie raised her eyebrows, taken aback, not exactly sure what else to say.

"...and you're recognizing that these actions fed your insanity?"

Patrick confidently nodded. "What sane person would do those things? You know as well as I do that I need to make some serious adjustments."

"This is quite the revelation, Patrick."

_Potentially unbelievable as well, but you're not smart enough to read into it. You're also blinded by bias because you want me to get better. _

"I've realized that the only way I am going to get better is if I want to." He looked pleadingly into Sophie's eyes. "..and I want to."

Sophie inhaled and sighed, sipping her tea from the ginger cup before collecting her belongings. "This was a good talk this morning, Patrick." She picked up the empty breakfast tray and headed towards the door. "I'll see you this afternoon."

"Dr. Miller?" Patrick stopped her with his words.

She turned toward him. "Yes?"

"Thank you," he swallowed. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

She smiled back at him with hope in her eyes. She nodded at him before leaving the room and re-locking the door. Patrick let out an exasperated sigh before throwing himself backwards on the bed. After taking a few much-needed deep breaths, he got himself up and grabbed the balled up sheet in the corner of his bed. He unraveled the sheet, confirming that the breakfast foods were still safely wrapped up in napkins among the sheet. He glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room, feeling its careful watch and potential watchers behind it.

Without warning, the door to the room flew open. Neil entered nonchalantly. "Dude, that lady said that I have to come in here and.." he noticed the sheet. "What are you doing?"

Patrick looked at Neil. He motioned with his hand. "Come here."

Neil obeyed, shutting the door behind him. He cautiously approached the mad man, afraid of what could be to come. Neil took notice of the food wrapped neatly in napkins and stored in the sheet.

"Can you take this and dispose of it?"

"Dude, why didn't you just eat it?"

"I'm not a big eater," the blonde man replied. "My stomach is actually quite small and I get sick if I eat large amounts of food and they give us so much food and I can't eat all of it. Could you just take it and you can either eat it or toss it. It's still a little warm if you really want it just..." he trailed off, glancing slightly at the camera in the corner. "Not in here."

"I'm not exactly sure if I'd be allowed to.."

Patrick brought himself to his feet. "Please. Help a guy out. Plus it is food. I'm not sure how much they are paying you here, but you can always use a free meal. I didn't do anything to it or nothing. Just take it."

He extended the balled up sheet to the young man.

"Dude, I don't know. What if I get caught?"

"You won't. These cameras are only video and no audio. They will only see that I have given you a balled up sheet and assume it is dirty laundry."

Neil cautiously took the sheet, examining its contents. He nodded at Patrick and obediently took the sheet wrapped food through the door, locking it behind him.

_Thank god. No way I'm eating any of that bile._

* * *

Patrick sat peacefully in his usual chair by the window, glancing down at the children playing below. For the past few days he had remained on his absolute best behavior to guarantee his release from solitary. They had extended his one hour 'free' period to two hours (which was a plus). Neil sat in the opposing chair, remaining busy on his cell phone.

An administrator appeared from around the corner. "Neil?"

The duo both looked to the origin of the voice, seeing the administrator wave a firm hand at Neil. "Come here for one moment, please."

Patrick observed at Neil obeyed. He couldn't tell the extend of the conversation, but he had found Neil decently easy to read. _Quick to slump his stature, holding himself poorly, nodded obsessively, down trodden expression...They're analyzing his ability to do this job. _

Upon noticing Neil's slow return, Patrick whipped his head back toward the window to continue his watch of the children. He eyed the familiar blonde girl playing on the swings as the young nurse returned to his seat, exasperated sigh leaving his mouth.

"You're doing a fine job," Patrick spoke up, keeping his watch on the girl.

Neil was taken aback. "W...What?"

Patrick met his gaze. "Over there," he gestured with his head. "They were criticizing you because you were being anti-social and playing on your phone."

"Dude, you wanna chill? It's none of your fucking business what they were talking to me about, a'ight?" Neil shuffled down in his chair and firmly crossed his arms over his chest.

The blonde man scoffed, returning his gaze to the window. "Well fine then if you don't want me to help you..."

"What was that?" Neil shot at the man.

Patrick raised his eyebrows and shifted his eyes quickly to Neil. "Hmm? Nothing." He took his gaze back to the window.

They sat in silence for a few moments. _C'mon, Neil. You know you want to ask. Don't screw this up for me._

"What do you mean?" Neil spoke softly, leaning forward toward Patrick. He rested his elbows on his knees.

"Hmm?" Patrick looked toward the slender man. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you." However hard he tried to resist, the arrogant tone still slipped through.

"What do you mean..." Neil looked around to check if anyone was listening to their conversation. "...you can help me?"

Patrick lifted his right leg to rest it on his left knee and rested his hands in his lap. "I know they've got you in here as a sort of community service. You watch the crazies for a while and you're golden. Not to mention you've stolen from the pharmacy to get that special feeling in your head that you're addicted to."

Neil fell silent, unsure if he should defend himself or let the man have at it. His breathing quickened and immediately an uncomfortable air struck between the two.

"It's okay," Patrick continued. "Nothing to be ashamed about. We all have our downfalls." Patrick leaned in, lowering the volume of his voice. "But I can help you. As long as you help me."

"Help _you__?" _Neil was taken aback. "What do you mean help you?"

"The only way they're going to let me out of this place is if I put on my happy face and make them believe I'm stable."

"Okay, so what does that have to do with me?"

Patrick's eyes remained locked with Neil's. "You tell Sophie and any other doctor who may come speak with you about my condition that I am progressing well, no issues, no outbursts, and that you are reassured I will do fine back in the mix. Then I'll tell them what a great watchman you were and I'll get you all of the Valium and Ambien you wish."

The watchman was hesitant. "I...I don't know, man. I can get it just fine by myself."

"But how much longer will the excuse of asking for Dr. Miller's pass because you misplaced yours not seem suspicious?" Patrick inquired. "You're walking on eggshells with that excuse and will have to constantly come up with different ones."

"You're lying." Neil retorted. "You...you're crazy. You're just saying that to convince me to help you."

"Neil, I want you to look into my eyes." Patrick remained sharp and focused on the man. "Do I look like I'm lying?"

Neil hesitantly shook his head.

"Do you want me to help you or not?"

Neil nodded.

Patrick extended his hand to the man. "So we have an agreement?"

Their hands met, shaking in comradery.

"Good." Patrick smiled.

"You're one manipulative son of a bitch."

Patrick shrugged. "I do what I have to."

* * *

Two days later, Patrick and Dr. Miller sat succumbed with silence. His plan had worked so far-Neil basically doing everything Patrick requested of him in exchange for his drugs and Sophie slowly falling to believe the gag. Almost to the point of disbelief.

"Dr. Miller?" Patrick began. "If you don't mind me speaking up."

"No," she motioned. "Please, go ahead."

"Dr. Miller, you've been sitting in here for a few minutes now and have yet to say anything." He observed. "Is there something wrong?"

She inhaled and exhaled before proceeding to speak. "Well, you've just...your condition has progressed significantly over the past few days."

Silence lingered before Patrick spoke up. "...is this a bad thing?"

"No! Oh, no. No, it's...ahm.." she looked down at her clip board and sifted through the papers. "It's actually quite good, to be honest."

"So, what's the problem?" _C'mon, Sophie. You want to believe it. You have to. Stop doubting yourself. _

"It's not so much a problem," she began. "Just a concern."

_If I have to keep working this hard to get information out of you, I'm going to request a different therapist. _"A concern about...?" He could tell she didn't want to tell him, but he didn't care.

"Most patients of your mental instability don't progress this quickly. Usually it takes weeks, sometimes months or longer for them to reach a point of revelation. You displayed this in a matter of days."

Patrick shrugged. "Everyone copes and heals differently. You should know this."

Sophie nodded. "Neil tells me that you continue to respond well during your time out in the community room."

_Good to know he's holding his end of the bargain._

"Do you think you're ready to go back out into the unit with the rest and continue your group sessions, activities, and interact with everyone else?"

"I don't think I truly have a say in that, Dr. Miller." Patrick replied. "Because if I say that I'm not, you'll keep me locked up in here. If I say that I am, you'll still keep me locked up in here. It's not truly up to me."

A sly smile slowly creeped onto Sophie's face before vanished just as quickly as it came. "You have a point."

"Do you think I'm ready to go back out into the unit, Doctor?"

The woman sighed, looking up at Patrick with hope filled eyes. "I have faith in your recovery as well as your progress. I believe that you are no longer a risk to our nurses and patients or to yourself. That being said, I do believe it would be best to put you back into the regular swing of things. Is that okay with you?"

"Whatever you believe to be best for my recovery."_ Success! _Patrick held a celebratory party in the memory palace.

"Alright then." Sophie stood up, her clip board in hand. "A few guards will be in soon to take you back to your room. We will start back up with sessions tomorrow morning. Head to dinner and then get some rest."

"Yes ma'am." Patrick agreed, watching as she left. A smile creeped onto Patrick's face slowly, basking in his success.

The guards came, took Patrick back to his room where Peter anxiously awaited his arrival.

"Pat! Pat! They brought you back!" Peter was overjoyed at the sight of his roommate. He lept from the bed, running to tackle the blonde man in a hug.

"Yes, Peter!" Patrick began before getting hit by the body, knocking him backwards making a loud BANG as his head hit the corner of the wall and fell to the ground. Peter scrambled, falling on top of Patrick.

"Oh! Oh no! Patrick! Pat, are you okay?"

Peter scrambled to his feet. Once he realized his roommate wasn't getting up, he yelled into the hallway.

"Help! Someone help! I killed a man! Oh god, I killed him!" Peter began to panic, pacing back and forth in the space.

Sophie entered the room, staring down at the limp man. "God, Patrick. Never a dull moment with you."

Patrick blinked slowly, trying to speak. The back of his head throbbed violently as his vision began to blur to dark.


	15. Purple

**_A/N: _**_Hello! Thank you to those who are continuing to read and review! I appreciate it immensely! The part at the beginning of this was meant to go on the end of the last chapter, however I just put it here as a part of this chapter instead. That section makes this chapter exceedingly longer than all the others but it is what it is. Enjoy! :)_

* * *

Purple.

Purple notebook, purple flowers, purple shoes.

Purple lump making a home on the back of Patrick's head.

"Patrick? Patrick, can you hear me?" Dr. Miller leaned closer to the limp man on the ground. She felt a pulse beneath her fingers against the chilled skin on his neck. "Neil? Can I get some extra hands in here please? Get Dr. Johnson as well!" Sophie grabbed a nearby pillow and placed it underneath his head.

"OH MY GOD I KILLED HIM! I KILLED A MAN. It was me! I DID IT! Take me away! Oh my god!" Peter failed to keep his composure.

"No, no. Peter, it's okay. He's not dead. You did not kill hi-"

"I did! LOOK! He's dead! He's dead!" Peter exclaimed in tears on his bed, hyperventilating. "Oh my god what will my mother think! But now I'll tell Patrick that I actually _have _killed someone and he-I CAN'T TELL HIM BECAUSE HE'S DEAD! OH GOD WHY!"

"Neil, please take Peter out of here." Sophie demanded from the watchman. He nodded and obeyed, leading Peter out of the room and down the hallway.

Dr. Johnson came into the room just in time. "What happened?"

"He hit the back of his head pretty hard on the corner of the wall and fell to the floor. I think he may have injured his head on the floor as well."

The pale man laying on the floor fluttered his eyelids, color slowly filling his complexion.

"Patrick? Patrick?" Sophie worriedly watching while waiting for him to come to. A few exasperated sighs came from the limp man as his eyes opened slightly revealing the bright white light to his tired eyes.

"Patrick, can you hear me?"

The blonde man nodded, his countenance one of confusion.

"Stay still, Patrick." Dr. Johnson explained. "Just lay there for a moment and gather yourself. You took a heavy fall."

He nodded once more, continuing to look around in confusion. Patrick brought a hand to where he had come in contact with the corner of the wall.

"Oh, thank the lord!" Peter quickly appeared in the doorway. Neil attempted to hold him back, but failed. "Pat! Pat! I didn't mean to almost kill you, I promise! I'm so sorry, man. I promise I'll always share my Twinkies with you and never make another joke or touch you ever again!"

"Neil," Sophie began, "Please keep Peter out of here."

Neil nodded obediently and began wrangling the chubby man. "No! That's my roommate! C'mon you gotta let me in there!" Peter yelled for the majority of the trip down the hall.

"Patrick? How does your head feel?"

"It hurts." Patrick spoke up, holding a prominent hand on the back of his head as he sat up. He continued to look around the room in confusion.

Sophie brought a hand to his shoulder to steady him. "Are you alright, Patrick?"

He nodded. "Where's Angela?"

The color in Sophie's face slowly drained at the question.

"Where's my wife?"

Sophie ignored the question momentarily. "Do you know who I am, Patrick?"

"You are...you're a doctor. I assume my doctor. You care far too much more about me than a medical doctor so... psychiatrist." He turned to Dr. Johnson. "You are the medical doctor here. However, your names escape me. Can one of you please find my wife?"

"Let's get you to the clinic for a quick evaluation and then..." Dr. Johnson looked to Sophie as he spoke. "...then we'll find your wife."

* * *

"Last night Patrick Jane fell and hit his head in his room." Sophie spoke to Neil and Dr. Travis. "We've found that this hit has caused him to suffer slight memory loss and a set back. As far as how back, we aren't sure yet. However we are assuming since he was asking where his wife and child were that it has been set to before the tragedy of their deaths. We're asking that you try not to trigger these memories or force them upon him. It would be best that he remember these things on his own."

"So basically don't talk about the fact that they're dead?" Neil added.

"Yes, Neil. At least from the three of us. Unfortunately we have no control over the other patients and what they say or do around him that may or may not trigger the memories. But we need to try to the best of our ability to let those come to him on his own."

Dr. Travis and Neil nodded in agreement.

"We've got group shortly, Dr. Miller. Am I okay to get myself there?"

"Of course, Dr. Travis. Just wanted to have that brief conversation with you two since we three are the three majorly in charge of Patrick's care."

"I understand, Dr. Miller. If there's any progression in his behavior be sure to let me know. Excuse me." Dr. Travis lead himself down the hallway towards his daily therapy room.

Neil glanced through the small window in the door to Patrick's room, observing the blonde man laying on his bed. "Is he going to be okay, doc?"

"We think so," Sophie replied. "Like I said, just some minor memory loss. It's common when people hit their head with that kind of a force."

"Yeah, I'd say a fat guy running and tackling you is a big force."

Sophie shot Neil a look of disapproval. "Go find Peter and make sure he's at group. I'll be talking with Patrick if you need anything."

Neil nodded and went on his way.

Sophie slowly opened the door and made her way into the room, shutting the door behind her. She quietly made her way past the resting man to sit herself on Peter's bed.

Patrick's eyes slowly came to an open, noticing the woman sitting across from him. He jumped slightly at the sight of the unknown visitor, his chest rising and falling violently with the heavy breaths. "You frightened me."

The corner of Sophie's lips rose slightly. "Sorry." She examined Patrick before returning her eye contact. "How are you feeling?"

Patrick shrugged. "Fine, I suppose." He adjusted his blankets slightly and brought a hand to his head to rub his temples. "Slight headache but nothing my wife's piano playing can't fix."

Sophie sighed at the mention of his wife.

"Where is she? Why can't I see her?"

"Patrick," the brunette psychiatrist began, "Do you remember why you're here?"

The young blonde man looked down at the tile flooring for a few moments before shaking his head. "No, I... I'm sorry. I don't remember."

"That's okay. Don't worry about it."

"Why can't I remember?"

"You hit your head pretty hard when you fell and, as a result, you're suffering from amnesia. Usually there will be a few things that will trigger these memories to come back within a reasonable amount of time."

Patrick nodded, gripping his hands on the edge of the mattress beneath him.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Patrick clasped his hands in his lap. "I...ah... I remember seeing a...a white light."

"White light?"

"Yes," Patrick nodded. "A white light and there were...there were many people reaching out to me, smiling down at me and there was one, specifically a...a man..." Patrick looked up at Sophie. "Your father."

Sophie was taken aback. "My...My _father_?"

"Dr. Miller, I believe he's trying to contact you right now."

Sophie sighed, realizing what he was trying to pull. "Patrick, this isn't really the time for a psychic reading."

"No, no. I know but these things just happen, Doctor Miller. It's nothing under my control. He says that he loves you and..." Patrick looked down, keeping his hand on his temple. "...and to say hello to your mother for him. He says he will always be watching over you." He looked up, smiling at Sophie.

She inhaled and spoke upon her exhale. "Thank you, Patrick, but-"

"Impressive, huh?" Patrick eyed her with confidence.

The brunette female had to try her best to keep herself from laughing. "I know your games."

"What games? Did that sound like a game to you, Doctor Miller?"

"Considering my father is still alive, yes."

Patrick froze and swallowed before clearing his throat. "I...ah...It's a common mistake. Grandfather maybe?"

"No, Patrick." Sophie laughed. "What is the last thing you remember doing before you woke up?"

"I had just finished with a client and was on my way to a television interview."

"Is that all you remember?"

Patrick nodded, confidently. "Yes. Red John had just murdered a woman and they were going to interview me about-"

Sharply, Patrick refrained to continue.

"...about?" Sophie prodded.

"...about ah...him. Serial killers in general as well and..."

"...and?"

Patrick shook his head. "Ah..and nothing. That was it. That's all I remember."

Sophie nodded and wrote a few things down on her clipboard. "Okay. I am going to let you be to rest for a little bit. If you need anything, feel free to come find Neil or myself, okay?"

"Neil?" Patrick had barely been interacting with the watchman.

"He's your watch nurse," Sophie explained. "He'll probably be in here in a little bit."

Patrick nodded.

"Feel free to look around a bit to sort of 're-discover' yourself. We want you to get those memories back on your own."

"Doctor, wouldn't it be much more efficient if you just told me what I'm missing out on? I'm sure it can't be much."

"It's healthier if you discover them on your own." Sophie stated, noticing the orange notebook sitting on his nightstand. She rose and began to help herself out of the room. "I'll be back in a little bit."

"Doctor Miller?"

Sophie turned back around. "Yes?"

"Could you please tell me where my wife and daughter are? I'd have thought they'd be here by now."

Sophie drew a blank. She knew she couldn't tell him the truth. "They...well, you see they..."

"Wait," Patrick glanced at the clock that was next to the orange notebook on their bedstand. "Wait, I...No. I know where they are."

"You do?"

"Yes. It's nearing one o'clock and Charlotte had a dental appointment at twelve thirty today."

"They should be here sometime later then. I'll come check on you in a bit." Dr. Miller quickly removed herself from the room, firmly shutting the door behind her and breathing a sigh of relief.

Patrick explored the room to the best of his ability. _No personal belongings except an orange journal._ Patrick opened the journal, revealing the letters he'd written to Angela and Charlotte. _They must not visit often if I'm having to write letters to them...How long have I been here? _He scanned each and every letter, words ranging from 'I miss you, Angie' to 'I'm so sorry, Charlotte'. Confusion filled the blonde man's mind, the reality of the situation failing to click.

_Why am I so sorry? I could understand missing them, but sorry? For what?_

* * *

"He...He's telling me that he loves you very much. He keeps repeating the phrase, 'It's not your fault. It's not your fault.'"

"I'm so sorry, Lucas." Lisa spoke hoarsely midst her prominent tears. A few other patients were standing around the duo as Patrick proceeded.

"He wants you to know it is okay. He says heaven is the most beautiful place he has ever seen. He is always watching over you and will never leave you." Patrick gripped his hands tighter with the sobbing woman in the chair across from him. "He says you need to stop blaming yourself for his death. It wasn't your fault."

"But I was the one who let him play outside by the road." Lisa replied. "I was the one who wasn't keeping a decent watch to see the cars coming."

"He says it was all in God's plan." Patrick continued. "Lucas wants you to know you need to let go and move on and that he loves you very, very much."

"I love you so much, Lucas!" Lisa's sobs continued as she leaned forward to hug Patrick. He took the embrace as the patients around put their hands on her back, cried, and reacted in their own worlds to this happening. Peter stood with wide eyes, astonished at his roommates talent.

"There, there. It's okay." Patrick soothed the woman. "Lisa, do you have family outside of this hospital?"

Lisa nodded beneath his embrace. "Yes. My husband and a few other family members."

"Tell you what, Lisa. I'll let you take this one for free but give this number to your husband. Say that I can connect him with his passed son." Patrick broke the embrace to write down his work number with the crayons on a nearby table. "Here. Tell him to call any time and we'll discuss a session."

Lisa nodded, taking the paper and quickly hugging Patrick again. "Thank you, Patrick. Thank you."

"Don't mention it." He broke the embrace again, smiled at her, then proceeded to get up and walk to the other side of the Common Room. Peter quickly approached him.

"Dude! How do you do that?!"

"Do what?" Patrick retorted, scanning the room for other takers.

"Do that whole, like, 'Your son says he loves you and I'm talking to him right now!' deal? You can seriously talk to dead people?!"

Patrick nodded, unamused by the chubby man. "Yeah. Sure can."

"Okay you SERIOUSLY need to teach me how to do that!" Peter exclaimed excitedly. "Because that is SO AWESOME!"

"Shhh..." Patrick raised a hand to the chubby man. "I need to think."

Peter patiently waited beside the man, curious as to what was going on in his brain at this very moment. "Whatcha-"

"Grah..." Patrick, frustrated, plopped down in a nearby chair. "This is no fun." _When it's not for money, that is. Only fun when it's for money..._

"Whaddaya mean it's no fun? I think reuniting people with their dead ones would be pretty fun to me! Hey! Do you see 'em too?"

"No, I don't see them. That'd make me crazy." Patrick replied quickly before thinking about his words.

Peter ignored the statement. "Okay what if...what if we do this! What if I point to someone and you tell me what they're like, okay? I know these people backwards and forwards so I'll know if you get them wrong."

"What's on the line?"

Peter thought about it for a moment. "I'll give you half of my lunch for a week."

Patrick considered the offer. "Hmm... add in three twinkies and you've got a deal."

"Dude, three?!"

"Hey, that's my offer!"

"What if _I_ win?"

"Ha! You won't."

Peter crinkled his face with frustration. "Fine. But if I DO, you owe me your hash browns and bacon at breakfast and dessert at dinner for a week."

Patrick extended his hand to the chubby man. "You've got yourself a deal."

"Alright! Let's see..." Peter scanned the room. "Him! That's Marvin. Go."

Patrick carefully studied Marvin for a while. "Marvin. He's 45. Looks a lot older because of stress and life. He used to fight in the war and when he came home he found out his wife was cheating on him. Then he attempted suicide and that's why he's in here. He's shaky, uncertain, and not very confident in himself."

Peter stared at Patrick with wide eyes, not saying a word.

"Am I right or am I right?" Patrick inquired.

"How...How'd you know all that?" Peter, still in shock, found it very hard to believe.

"His physicality put him at a younger age, however he has the war look. Y'know, where they've seen a lot and been through a lot. But he couldn't have been over 50 or under 40 so 45. Veterans are usually in a place like this because of post traumatic stress disorder or because of attempted suicide. He has a mark on his finger where his wedding ring used to be and seemed to have been toughened by the war and not shaken by it. His stance and posture are shaky and slouched which leads to being uncertain and not confident."

"Holy cow. You were right on the dot."

Patrick smiled at Peter before turning his eyes back to the room. "Next."

"There." Peter pointed at the young girl holding her knees to her chest beside the window. "Summer."

"Summer..." Patrick took the moments needed to evaluate her and began his description soon after. "She is 19 years old. Very rough home life. Her father either beat her or raped her or both and her mother never said a word. This caused her to have low self worth which spiraled to depression and cutting or another form of self-harm. She's in here for a suicide attempt."

"HA! Wrong!" Peter exclaimed.

"What? What do you mean?"

"She's not in here for a suicide attempt! She's here because she tried to kill her parents. Wrong!"

Patrick started into the eyes of the obnoxious roommate. "You're lying."

Peter stood there for a moment, keeping eye contact with the man. "Am not!" He fidgeted nervously.

"Yes. You're lying."

Peter fidgeted a little more before giving in. "Man, you're good."

The blonde man smiled once more. "Alright, one last one."

"Patrick?" Sophie called from the other side of the room.

"That woman again?" Patrick spoke under his breath.

"Hey, at least you got the nice one." Peter added. "Dr. Moore isn't very nice sometimes..."

"Patrick, can you come here please?" the brunette doctor persisted.

"She treats me like I'm a three legged dog." Patrick sighed as he made his way across the room, leaving Peter laughing at his remark.

"It's time for our nightly session."

"We have to meet at night too?" Patrick sighed. "Seriously, where is my wife? She should be here by now and then I won't have to meet with you again."

"Hey! Turn it up!" Lana hollered across the Common Room to Toby who was running the television. "It's that Red John guy again!"

Patrick's head quickly snapped toward the television as it spoke.

"The state wide serial killer Red John is at it again."

_Serial Killer. Red John._

_Red John. _

"Toby, please turn that off! We don't need to be listening to that." Sophie toward at Patrick with concern. "Patrick? Are you okay?"

Patrick's eyes remained on the television's now black screen. He didn't respond.

"Patrick?"

He turned his head back to the psychiatrist. "Yeah?"

"Are you alright?"

He paused. "Yeah. Yes. Yes, I'm...I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" he raised his voice slightly, but took consideration of it. "Yes, I'm fine. Now, just leave me be. Please."

Patrick made his way back to Peter who was still sitting in his spot from across the room.

_No. No. Don't remember._

_ I don't want to remember.  
_


	16. Navy

_**A/N:**__ I know I'm horrible at updating-sorry guys! However, all the bustle and busy-ness of this past couple months has come to an end (I just graduated high school, yay!) so I will for sure be able to update and bring this to a close within a reasonable time period. Thank you to those that still follow and continue to read and review. It's appreciated more than you could imagine. _

* * *

Navy.

Navy heels, navy blouse, navy hat.

Navy blue beads sparkling in the sunlight.

"I thought it would be nice to have session outside this morning. Is that okay with you, Patrick?" Sophie intently studied the attitude shifted patient.

"I haven't got much of a choice now do I?"

Neil smirked from his position across the courtyard.

"It's better than being stuck inside 1984, anyway."

Neil glanced to the camera in the corner of the courtyard. "Not quite..."

"Neil..." Sophie prodded. "Would you mind leaving Mr. Jane and I alone for today's session?"

The young nurse nodded, leaving the two to their spot in the courtyard.

"Dr. Miller," Patrick began, "Is this going to be another interrogation?"

"Depends. Do you want to be interrogated?"

"I would like to know why I'm stuck in the loony bin." Patrick replied, glancing at a patient across the courtyard attempting to make conversations with a bush.

"Patrick, please show some respect."

"Why? Why should I show any respect to these insane morons? They're just punishing themselves, you know."

"Really? How so?" Sophie prodded.

"They're just prolonging their suffering! Odds are something traumatic happened to them at some point in their life and they refused to move on. They sit here drooling and talking to inanimate objects because they refuse to see a way to move on. They're choosing this isolation rather than healing and living the life they could be living."

Sophie nodded slightly before proceeding. "Do you think this way about yourself?"

Patrick shot a confused look at the psychiatrist. "Why would I feel this way about myself? I don't belong here."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I am obviously a well put together human, no traumatic events have ever happened to me and if something were to happen I wouldn't become some drooling vegetable."

"Okay...so let's say, hypothetically, that something traumatic _were_ to happen to you. How do you think you would respond?"

The blonde patient looked at the grass, pondering this question. "Most likely I would give myself an appropriate amount of time to grieve and then I would proceed with my life as normal as possible."

"How long do you say is an 'appropriate' amount of time to grieve?"

"Dr. Miller, must we proceed with the interrogation?"

"I just want to know how you think, Patrick, and get to know you a bit better."

Patrick sighed, standing up from his place at the picnic table. "Can we please be done? I have to go get ready for when my wife comes to pick me up. I know she'll be here any minute."

Sophie nodded. "Of course. I'll see you later, Patrick."

Ignoring her comment, Patrick proceeded to make his way back inside. He made his way back to his room to pack his things. He looked everywhere for his old clothes, unable to find them.

Suddenly Neil appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Pat. Whatcha up to?"

"Just packing my stuff for when my wife and Charlotte come to get me." He continued looking for his personal clothes. "Do you know where they've taken my old clothes? I don't want to be wearing this stuff when they get here."

"Uh...yeah." Neil began, unsure if he should actually go get the clothes they had taken from him upon arrival. "Yeah, I'll just go check in the office and get them for you."

"Thanks, Neil." Patrick added as Neil vanished.

_The only things left to pack are this journal over here and I'll make my bed... _Patrick grabbed the orange journal from the bedstand. _Never really used this thing anyways._ He opened to the first page-the first letter-and his eyes couldn't help but begin to read.

* * *

"Dr. Miller! Dr. Miller! I think Patrick's remembered!" Neil rushed into Sophie's office, out of breath.

Not even seconds passed before Sophie was up and running to Patrick's room, Neil following close behind. She opened the door to find the blonde man crouched in the fetal position on his bed, hands covering his face and the journal thrown onto the floor with torn pages decorating the white tiled floor.

She slowly approached the lump of human on the bed, the only sound being heard were his silent sobs.

"Patrick?"

She gave him a minute as she adjusted herself on the floor next to his bed.

"Patrick, what's wrong?"

"You know." He sputtered out.

The duo sat in silence, Neil watching by the doorway. Sophie couldn't deny that.

"What are you thinking, Patrick?"

Another moment of silence fell in the room as the blonde patient calmed himself.

"I'm a hypocrite." he whispered to himself.

"What do you mean?"

"All that I said earlier. I wasn't talking about everyone else. I was talking about myself."

"How do you mean?"

Patrick looked up from his curled up position on the bed, his tear stained face glaring at Sophie. "You know how I mean! I caused Red John to kill my wife and daughter however many months ago and here I am curled up as some crying vegetable in a loony bin refusing to get better! I'm one of them!" He yelled, immediately taking his face back into his hands against the mattress.

Sophie slowly inhaled, then exhaled, before proceeding.

"So, what are you going to do about this?"

Patrick shook his head from beneath his hands. "I don't know."

"That's okay. You don't have to know." She softly laid a hand on Patrick's knee. "That's why we're here, Patrick. We're going to help you."

Patrick looked up at her from his position on the bed.

Sophie reassured the man. "We're going to help heal you."

* * *

Weeks passed as Patrick Jane progressed in treatment. He went to Sophie when needed and group when needed. He talked more openly about his past and everything that had happened since his admittance to Heritage Oaks a few months prior to current day. Dr. Miller had even opened up his mindset to the idea of starting a new life after leaving Heritage Oaks. With all the progress he had made, she knew he would do well back in society. She even mentioned the thought of starting a new family and looking into going onto dates and finding another significant other.

"I don't think I can do that, Doctor." Patrick replied.

"Why do you say that?" Sophie questioned.

"Well, I can't very well just pretend they didn't exist and simply move on."

"Patrick, you aren't really pretending they didn't exist. You're acknowledging the fact that they are gone, they were a part of your life, and continuing on with that life for the benefit of your emotional and mental well-being. They'll always have a place in your heart, but now you're opening up your heart to someone else."

The blonde man shook his head. "I don't know, maybe." He pondered if for a few seconds before checking the clock. "I'd like if we finished for today. I promised Peter to a game of cards in the common room right about now."

"That's okay, Patrick." Sophie concluded, closing her journal. "We'll talk more about this tomorrow after you've had the night to think it over, okay?"

Patrick nodded before standing up from his seat in her office. "Thank you, Doctor Miller."

She smiled at him as he left the small office and proceeded down the hallway, making his way to the common room.

As he made his way down the hallway, he heard a beautiful song being played on a piano in one of the group rooms. He peeked his head into the door of one of the rooms, finding the origin of the beautiful music.

"My wife used to play like that." Patrick commented after Lisa completed the piece.

"Bach," she responded. "Prelude in C Major."

"It's beautiful," Patrick added, gracing his fingers gently across the white ivory keys.

"It's his favorite." Lisa turned her gaze up at the blonde man.

He met her gaze. "Who's?"

"You know." She teased. "_His."_

Patrick took a moment, realizing who she was referring to. "Red John."

"Red John." She repeated, gently nodding her head.

Patrick slowly retreated backwards towards the door. "You're…You're Red John?"

Lisa laughed uproariously. "Oh, no, dear. I'm not as smart, clever, or as manipulative as he is. I'm just a messenger from him to you. He knows that you're here. He wanted to tell you something."

"Why didn't he just come and tell me himself then if you say he knows where I am?

The woman laughed again. "Red John never does his own dirty work. He takes people like me under his wing, loves us, and cares for us. Shows us we've got more purpose in our lives than we thought."

"A purpose? Helping a serial killer?"

"A serial killer he may be, but he has given my life a new purpose, Patrick."

The blonde man wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Just tell me what he wants me to know."

Lisa moved closer to Patrick. "He knows you're here, Patrick."

"Yes, you've told me that. Now what does he want?"

"He wants you to know that you're deep in. There's no escaping now."

The blonde man turned, moving towards the door. "Well you can tell him that I've moved on and I'll be leaving well enough alone. He can go ahead back on his killing spree."

"That's the thing, Mr. Jane. You're next."

Patrick froze in his steps. "Me? What does he want with me? He's already taken my family and my sanity, what else does he want?"

"He's…intrigued by you." Lisa prodded. "He thinks you could be a valuable partner."

"No," he responded. "No, there's no way."

"Let's be honest here. You'll never escape him, Patrick. You'll live your life trying to run away from him, but he'll always be there. Why not join him instead?"

"No," Patrick. "I won't let that happen."

"You're next, Patrick! He'll never leave you be!" Lisa called after him as he made his way out the door.

Peter greeted him outside in the hallway. "P-Pat?"

"Hurry, Peter! Follow me!" Patrick called at the chubby roommate as he ran down the hallway to their room.

"But, Pat!" Peter yelled at him following close behind.

Patrick flew through the door of their room quickly beginning to pace as Peter burst through the door shortly after.

"What does he want with me? Why won't he leave me alone?!" Patrick yelled.

"Wh-What…what do you…" Peter took a moment to catch his breath. "…what do you mean…? What…what happened?"

"Red John. He's after me. Why is he still coming after me?!"

"Uh, Pat, I…I don't see anyone coming after you…" Peter laughed slightly to himself. "And I thought _I_ was the crazy one! Haha!"

"Peter!" Patrick snapped at him, then resumed his pacing.

Peter hung his head. "Sorry, Pat."

Patrick stopped his pacing to look out their window. He brought a hand to his mouth. "What am I gonna do?"

Peter sat in silence, staring up at his admirable roommate. Having something to say, he raised his hand high in the air from where he sat on his bed. Patrick turned around to him.

"What is it, Peter."

"Uhm…I-I don't think it's my place but…but what if you…you just…uhm…"

"Peter!"

"I just think maybe you could try to get to him first?"

Patrick rose from his spot on the bed. "Chase him and never stop until I get him?"

"Y-Yeah! I-I mean that way he can't get to you because you would be getting to him first!"

"Maybe. I don't know, Peter. He's smart."

"Well if you want him to stop chasing you, I s'pose that's the only way to get to him."

Patrick nodded. "Peter, if I can get out of here I can do this. Sophie told me that I was almost ready anyways."

"But…Pat. What if he tries to kill you?"

"Then he kills me. Thank you, Peter. You're more of a genius than I thought you were."

"Of course, room buddy! And hey, think of all the twinkies you could buy with all that reward money!"

"I'll be sharing it with you, Peter. Thank you."

_I'm not next, you imbecile. _Patrick thought to himself, turning and preparing himself for bed. _You're the one who's next. Just you wait._

* * *

"HELP! SOPHIE! SOMEONE! HELP! PLEASE!" Patrick's voice rang throughout the halls of Heritage Oaks.

Nurses quickly made their way running down the hallway towards the room of Patrick and Peter. "What is it? What's wr—"

The nurses were cut off by the sight of the hanging corpse of Peter in the middle of the room, the lump of Patrick Jane curled up on the ground beneath him.


End file.
